I'm often surprised when I look in mirrors. Not every time, not typical mirror watching, the fogged up mirror I wipe to shave or holding Miriam and pointing to the dada in the reflection off a car window. But sustained mirror looking, like at the barber's, or surprise mirror glances in an elevator or passing shop window. I am surprised at how bad my posture looks, or how bald I really am. The surprise comes from the disconnect between my actual image and my self-image. There is an inherent bias towards the past to in self-images. I have iconic photos of myself, photos I remember triply: the occasion, the image, and memories of looking at the image. All of these are past, some a decade or more past. Looking at the kid pictures and the teenage pictures, the college pictures, I recognize myself in the image but don't identify with it. But the wedding photos look like who I think I am now, who I see when I close my eyes or am chatting with an acquaintance and imagining what I look like to my conversational partner. Which is not what I actually look like. Close, but five years fewer moles and pores and wrinkles.
Which is in contrast to the long running joke that I've been 30-something in outlook and demeanor for at least that long.
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