Mirror, Mirror:
Mirror, mirror on the wall
how is it I can't recall
when age first began to show
and subdue my youthful glow?
When did flesh begin to sag
and display surrender flag?
A physique that once was taut
doesn't look the way it ought -
girth expands while muscles slack,
hands of time I can't turn back.
Mirror, you do not reflect
youthful vision I expect.
Asked who's fairest, you reply,
"I will not tell you a lie.
Yours is not the fairest face
and the years you can't erase.
Still, there's beauty to behold
in a face that's growing old.
Ego, fortified in youth,
now be banished by the truth;
don't be slave to vanity -
dwell not on the things you see.
Let true beauty be your goal -
seek to beautify the soul."
Sharon Flood Kasenberg, September 2, 2008
Yesterday my mother complained that her skin was looking wrinkly. And the first thought that went through my mind was "It's about time - you're pretty old!"
But I refrained from saying it. My mom looks great for a woman her age - and even with a few wrinkles she looks a lot younger than her years. I hope I told her that she still looks fabulous, but in all honesty I don't remember what I said. I was feeling my age yesterday too - tired after another bad night's sleep and definitely off my game a bit mentally.
I do know that I didn't blurt out the first thought that came into my head, though - and that's something to be proud of. (Age seems to be increasing my tendency to say whatever pops into my head - so kudos to me for managing not to.) I understand how my mother feels - looking in the mirror can be shocking at times. Inside, I feel young, but that isn't usually reflected in the image my mirror presents me, especially first thing in the morning. Ordinarily I cut myself some slack - I mean, that first morning glance doesn't flatter most people, and once I've put in my eye drops, washed my face and drawn on my eyebrows I usually feel vastly improved. Still, there are days when no effort I make seems like enough, and I see every wrinkle and pound as though through a magnifying glass.
I've tried to ignore my aging face as long as possible, but this past week I broke down and bought a wrinkle cream for the first time. (Up till now I got by with those "preventative" products, but obviously they didn't quite do the trick.) Now I have one more step in a beauty routine that already made me feel ridiculously high maintenance.
Every morning and evening I now:
- swab my dry eyes with special cleansing cloths
- wash my face
- put in eye drops
- apply a serum to bind moisturizer to insanely dry skin
- apply moisturizer
- apply wrinkle cream (where needed - for now : )
- brush my teeth
- moisturize my hands
- apply lip balm
(There are actually a few more steps, but everybody is entitled to a few secrets.) The point is, I spend a lot of time tending to my body. I do all these things, plus arranging my hair into some kind of order and putting on a dab of make-up daily. I go to the gym and walk on my treadmill five or six days a week. I'm not ashamed of any of these actions - looking after the vessel is important, even if I feel that I'm fighting a losing battle at times. I'm not skinny anymore and probably never will be again, but I know I'm slimmer than I would be if I didn't put in the effort. And I think I'm stronger than I've ever been.
Having said all of that, I have to acknowledge that I don't put the same effort into beautifying my soul. It's a truth that makes me uncomfortable.
It's not that my soul goes untended. I try to spend some quiet time in contemplation each day. I make sure that I tend to my immediate relationships and show affection for the people I love most. But I can be remiss in taking time to care for my inner self - to kindle my creative spark, to nurture compassionate impulses, to develop new friendships and to take time to appreciate beauty in all of it's forms.
My physical regimes have changed over the years as new needs have arisen, but there was never a time when I didn't have a routine of one sort or another. As a child I often waited for my mother to tell me to wash my face or brush my teeth, but her chiding didn't negate the fact that these tasks always got taken care of. Looking after my inner self has never been a consistent effort - perhaps because nobody has ever nagged me about it - which is kind of a dismal thought. Should I really have to be cajoled into feeding my hungry soul when too often I'm guilty of over-feeding my body?
Late winter is my least favorite time of the year. I appreciate the warmer temperatures, but hate the dirty snow, mud and damp days that lead up to real springtime - that time of warmth and growth and flowers coming to life. I mention this because I think that at times I allow my soul to go into "late winter mode". I want to feel warm and fuzzy inside without it being a bothersome effort in any way. I want to go directly to a fully blossoming soul without facing my ugly lack of discipline or the cold drizzle of difficulty. When it comes to establishing regular inner beauty routines it's too easy to give in to the whining voice of my inner three year old - "I don't wanna! It's too hard!"
It is hard. Not many of us are entirely altruistic, or even naturally generous in our responses to the actions of others. I'm trying to remind myself that people are more often thoughtless than deliberately unkind. I shouldn't take it personally when someone turns the corner when I'm waiting to cross the street or splashes me by driving through a three inch pothole. These people are just distracted by their own problems or in a hurry to get somewhere - they aren't in on some global conspiracy to make my walk unpleasant. But it is hard to keep from muttering under my breath. It often feels too hard to be kind in the face of thoughtlessness.
It's hard to be productive every day and manage my time in soul satisfying ways. It isn't easy to find the discipline to write on a daily basis or engage in other creative endeavors. But it's really easy to waste time looking at real estate online or reading wikipedia whenever a fleeting question passes through my easily distracted mind.
It's hard to remember to be grateful every day and to consciously look for even more things to be grateful for - even when my appliances break down and my world looks chaotic and I'm grumpy and tired. I mean, darn - I might know in my heart just how much I have, but being consistently grateful really can feel like work at times.
It's hard to find ways to serve humanity. It's usually pretty easy to help people I like - but the notion that I might need to extend myself to help those who are less than lovable makes me very uncomfortable.
It's hard to tune in to the little things that I've neglected - like listening to music while doing housework. When did I stop singing into the vacuum hose? Perhaps as my slavish devotion to the treadmill increased in an attempt to do something good for my body, I just got too tired to feed my soul with an impromptu dance party while cleaning the house.
It's hard to take the time to go to the library for fresh books to fuel my mind; to find good entertainment instead of settling for the same old reruns on the telly and wasting time with trivial pursuits online.
I'm getting tired of this bleak late winter of the soul, and looking forward to planting a few fresh shoots and pruning a few more established plantings. After some honest toil, I'm apt to be happier with the person I see in the mirror.
"Hey!" - I hope I'll say to my reflection when I'm as old as my mother (and probably considerably wrinklier) "You're a bit of a crumpled and grimy old girl, but I like your soul. Keep up the hard work!"
