A few months ago a dear friend came over to take some photos of me. She is embarking on her new career in photography and since I'm kinda narcissistic and like the way others see me through the lens (huh?) I urged her to use me as a model. Actually, that's not the way it happened exactly. She was in need of a little practice, and some input, and I was in need of recent "blog profile" photos of myself. But I still like getting my photo taken in my own weird little way.
Come to find out, she wanted to be sure to capture my wrinkles. Um, I'm sorry, my what? Oh boy. This might not be as fun as I thought. Or maybe it would be. Truth is, I'm not really all that worried about my age or the aging process thus far for that matter. Some friends I know whisper about botox and their sagging, sucked dry breasts and that flappy skin on the back of their arms. Me? Nah. It is what it is. So, I figured I'd let her just shoot away, unflattering side light and all. And I did. And you know what, I like the photos. Yep. So I'm calling in a victory. It might not mean anything to anyone else but to me, it means that I'm OK looking at my own (40- year-old, this year) face which I think is a pretty good thing.
At first glance this shot is fun and so very me, but after I really looked at it, I saw the lines, the wrinkles around my eyes. Wow. That's a lot of lines. It's surreal catching a glance of yourself aging. Because like Shari MacDonald Strong said in her wonderful story Love-40, "I didn't know I was aging, exactly." So when one day you see yourself and you can trace the last few years of motherhood, of work, of love, of joy, of time carved in lines around your eyes, it can be shocking. But, it's also wonderful, if you let it be.