Lately, my husband has been digitizing old slides, so I have spent hours looking at old pictures. Ancient pictures of myself that I have not seen in over forty years. This forces one to face reality. Inside I feel much like that nineteen-year-old girl, but where did she go? When I look in the mirror now, I see a middle-aged woman.
I’m desperate to be that young again.
But, I’m deeply grateful I’m no longer as naïve as she was.
That girl/woman looks put together with neatly flipped hair, eyeliner, and A-line mini-dress. I thought I was fat, but she looks slim and proportioned. She looks poised and confident, but I remember only insecurity, awkwardness and shyness. I wanted to look like the women I saw in magazines and movies. Why couldn’t I see that I did? They say pictures don’t lie, but I have to wonder.
Sure I want to be nineteen again, but only with the wisdom gained from living and learning for sixty years. Besides, when I’m eighty or ninety, I expect to look at the photos of me at sixty and yearn to be that young again. Everything is relative.