There’s this one picture of my dad. He’s not a handsome man. His ears are too big, his nose is bulbous. He’s got age spots. But. The set of his mouth leaves no doubt he’s just made a ‘smart aleck’ remark, and I can hear echoes of the guffaw that no doubt ensued. (No one ever enjoyed a joke he told more than he himself.) I love this picture, and I love more than anything else the deep wrinkles at his eyes. They tell the story of years of hard work and also of ready laughter.
I look at that face and I know beauty.
Funny, though. Because when I look in the mirror at my face and I see similar spots and wrinkles, I only see age and imperfection. Hmmm. His face is wonderful and tells his story, mine just looks old. It’s easy I suppose, in light of our culture’s influence, to understand this conundrum, but today I’d like to reject my disapproval of my own visage and celebrate the gift of being alive. Too often I get mired in the messiness of living and stop cherishing life itself. Perhaps we all do until that frozen moment when there’s a screech of tires, an unexpected late night phone call, a lump, a fever, or any other of those hard events between one blink and the next that bring us face to face with mortality.
So, today, I’m celebrating being alive. I’m actively searching for reasons to rejoice. There are a few leaves on the tree next door that have morphed from summer green to fall yellow. There’s a new feel in the air, and while I don’t exactly like the idea of winter’s approach, the crispness infuses me with the excitement of change. My cat, who I just bathed yesterday (not a pretty moment for sure with us both growling and wet by the time we’re finished) is now so soft and warm as she holds court from the back of the couch. Yes, life is hard and scruffy but there are so many moments of sheer exquisiteness and majesty in every single simple sound or feel.
So, I stand for a bit in front of the mirror. Yup, there they are, the age spots and wrinkles, the imperfections. They are the total of where I’ve been and all I’ve done. They echo all my laughter and fears, hopes realized and abandoned, successes and failures. And, yes, they are beautiful.
