The Man in the Mirror

So who is that man in my mirror?

Sometimes I’ll break out some old photos of me – you know, back when I was a magnificent young stallion.

Yeah, right.

But seriously, just check out my now-slightly-fading pictures: The full head of hair, the jet-black beard, the (relatively) toned bod. The flash in my eyes that proudly declares, “Oh yeah, this is my time and it’s going to stay like this for a long, long while.”

Except, it really doesn’t.

Do you recall? When we're in our 20s and 30s – the decades most would consider our prime time on the planet -- some of us could coast for YEARS without any noticeable change in our appearance.

And as we went along our merry way, we guys could always let our hair grow or cut it off, sport a beard, carve out some long sideburns -- or suddenly shave it all off just for fun.

But our essential appearance could seemingly hang in there for decades.

Wonderful.

Yes, these are what they refer to as our “salad days.” The years when you’re cruising along on a cocktail of youthful energy, great metabolism and a positive attitude.

And let’s admit it. We all – men AND women – spend a lot of time staring at ourselves in the mirror during this lovely time of life. And if you’re taking care of yourself at all, that image peering back at you remains generally pleasing.

But that darned Mr. Time just keeps chipping away at us.

For men, it’s usually first manifested by some kind of hair loss. And those “touches of gray” in our beards and hair that -- briefly -- made us feel all grown up but eventually took over our entire heads.

Our once smooth-as-a-baby’s-butt skin starts to lose its resilience, thanks to Mr. Time. “Character” lines begin to form around our eyes, foreheads, mouths.

Dark spots begin to appear on our hands and faces from out of nowhere. And unless we are dedicated gym rats, our once-near-perfect bodies begin to droop and sag.

Now all this is from a male perspective. I wouldn’t presume to know precisely how the aging process torments women -- so ladies, you can mentally plug in your own gender-specific aging woes.

For me, this attack on my eternally youthful image of myself (which I still somehow keep carrying inside my head) is something I began to be more fully aware of in my late 50s.

Now, though, as I enter my 70s, I look back on my late 50s so fondly…I mean, that’s still young!

Compared to who I am now.

But it’s OK. I know I must embrace the changes long life can inflict upon me. As Firesign Theater (look it up) once said: “You got to live it or live with it.”

But every time I gaze into my mirror to check out another mole or skin tag that’s popped up, I try to keep one thing in mind:

I may be growing old in body, but my spirit remains forever young.

And it’s like the T-shirt I want for my next birthday says: “I’ll Never Be This Young Again.”

Embrace that.