The Stranger in the Mirror

Who is this stranger I see staring back at me from the mirror? I move closer to get a better look and I see something familiar in the eyes. Could it be? Why, I do believe that stranger is me!

I close my eyes and take a journey back in time. It doesn't seem that long ago that I was a young girl. Just exactly how long ago was it? Actually, now that I think about it, it was longer than I realized. Funny, I don't feel any different than the girl I was so many years ago. Sure, there are a few more aches and pains, a few more (well, maybe more than a few more) wrinkles here and there, and my legs have become a canvas upon which ugly blue veins have been painted, but I am still the same young girl inside. At least I think I am.

I step back from the mirror to get a full-length view of this person. I want to get a really good look so I strip off all my clothes. I start from the bottom, scrutinizing body parts. First, I study the feet. They look like the same feet...almost. A bit calloused here and there and the foot does appear to be wider, but not so bad actually. Next, I move up to the legs. Just when did all these blue markings appear? Did they come to camp one night while I was sleeping and decide to stay? Those once smooth legs now look like road maps with blue lines marking the places of interest. I wonder what would happen if I connected all those blue markings, kind of like a connect-the-dot game. Would the face of Elvis suddenly appear?

Upwards I travel to broader horizons, and I do mean "broader." I turn around to survey the "back yard" and I see there has been a lot of expansion going on in that area. Two words immediately come to mind -- dimpled cheeks. Aren't they supposed to be on the face?

My once firm stomach is now a mass of marshmallow fluff and my waist has become multifunctional. I find that when sitting down I can actually hide money in the folds of skin of my expanded waist and isn't there supposed to be a belly button in there somewhere?

Further up I am greeted by gravity-ravaged breasts that resemble deflated balloons. Those soldiers who once stood so proudly at attention now stare forlornly at the floor. I remember always wanting bigger breasts, not longer ones. I am forced to stand to undress now because if I am sitting when I remove my bra, I bruise my knees. On closer inspection I see a hair in a spot where no hair should be and consider plucking it out. Eventually I realize I am fighting a losing battle and I leave it alone. I decide to let it grow. Maybe if it gets long enough I can use it for floss.

While inspecting my hands, I find a few age spots. They don't worry me. I just call them "freckles" and smile. What does worry me are those arms! Who put that loose skin on my upper arms and when? I raise an arm and watch the skin flapping around like a drunken chicken. Maybe I was meant to fly?

Looking at my neck brings a vision of turkey to mind and I am suddenly overcome by the urge to have a sandwich. Instead, I look at it again and I find I have suddenly lost my appetite. I decide to survey the face instead.

It looks like I have developed "traveling eyes." I call them that because now they are carrying bags. I see someone who now wears glasses because without them everything would be viewed in soft focus.

Hmmm... are women supposed to have lots of nose hairs and traces of a moustache? And why are those long hairs growing out of my moles and chin? Am I going to transform into the bearded lady? Or am I going to be the "incredible shrinking lady" since my last doctor visit showed that I am now a whole inch shorter than I used to be.

I step back from the mirror once again to get a good overall look. Years ago I remember telling my husband that I wanted to explore new places as I got older. I certainly didn't mean the inside of hospitals and doctors' offices. I see someone with lots of aches and pains, a person who suffers from diabetes and arthritis. I no longer leave the house without my pills and my glucose monitor. Sometimes I try to pass the glucose monitor off as my cell phone because it is so tiny and cute and I do want to be fashionable.

No longer do I grab the comic section of the Sunday paper. I bypass that section and instead I head right to the Obituaries. I carefully scan the names to be sure mine is not among them.

I have come to a conclusion. No, I am not the same young girl I used to be, not internally or externally. What I am is someone who is not only older, but also much wiser. Like fine wine I have improved with age. Life has been my teacher and has taught me well. I am at a comfortable place in my life with the child-rearing stage well behind me. I enjoy where I am and who I am and having the freedom to do as I please. I would not trade my life for the life of a 20-year-old for all the money in the world. That stranger in the mirror is me and I have become all that I ever dreamed of and so much more. I take one more look into the mirror. I turn around and smile and slowly walk away.