The shock usually comes when a photographer hands over a newly minted ID, and the face that gazing back appears alien. I have a zero-tolerance policy for this experience: it is not ego; it is a jolt of reality, and we do well to pay attention to it rather than deny it.
What troubles many in their advancing years is not the reflection of aging; it is the speed at which the change has occurred. Ten years ago is a time that feels within touching distance, yet the body and the calendar do not agree. Researchers have long known that time speeds by as we grow older, at least in part because the world has become more routine and the days slip by unnoticed. While this helps to explain the experience, it does little to ease the shock when the mirror calls the question without mercy.
Mirrors, after all, are not nuanced. They do not coddle, they do not negotiate, they do not recall our youthful selves at thirty-five. They report on the world as they see it, and sometimes their candor is brutal, even as our inner lives remain vigorous, curious, and intent on making new plans. I know why many of us now walk by a reflective window as if it were a cold puddle to be avoided.
There is also a social component to this shock, one that is rarely named. We idolize youth to a level of religious fervor and view aging as a gradual failure to maintain our appearance. When a face becomes suddenly unrecognizable, it is not just wrinkles but a litany of judgments accumulated through decades of advertising and casual ridicule. The shock is partly individual and partly learned.
I also resist the urge to treat this moment as a problem to be solved through forced solutions and quick fixes. While dyeing my hair or adjusting my lighting or finding a more benevolent camera filter can be pleasant pastimes, they do not address the underlying question: How did life suddenly speed up without ever asking permission? The face is not the problem; it is the feeling of being left behind as time quietly rearranges our priorities while we were busy paying bills and raising children.
There is a certain gallows humor to it all, if one is willing to look at it askew. The same impatience that made waiting in line to buy a movie ticket a complete waste of life now makes me feel as if decades are passing while I wait for a dentist appointment. The joke is on us: we were never promised a gradual reveal. I laugh at this to keep it from becoming bitter.
I find solace in focusing on what I have gained rather than what I have lost. Judgment becomes more refined, compassion more expansive, and certain fears lose their grip on my psyche. None of this is reflected in my face or my identification photo, but it is as real as the lines on my eyes and far more useful as I try to figure out how to spend a morning.
The best course of action, I believe, is neither mirror worship nor mirror avoidance. It’s learning how to look and how not to look, how to choose the mirrors of memory, work done, love given, and survival of error. Time will go on at its own odd pace, but we can meet it with open eyes, a little wit, and the determination not to be defined in any unflattering way.
