The Real Me
My inner sense of self is about twenty years younger than my reality. Like the narrator in H.P. Lovecraft’s “The Outsider,” I, too am disoriented when I look into a mirror and see the half-century version of myself!
As the narrator said,
My aspect was a matter equally unthought of, for there were no mirrors in the castle, and I merely regarded myself by instinct as akin to the youthful figures I saw drawn and painted in the books.
Whenever I think of myself and how I appear to others, usually I see this version of me:
Nowadays, I use filters on my phone before I share any photos of my current self. Ah, vanity. Who really cares about the need for reading glasses, the effort it takes to turn my gray hair blonde, the lines around my eyes, and the age spot on my temple?
I guess I care because I use a filter, get my grays bleached, and wear concealer. But you, would, too, if you saw this every morning in the mirror!
