Day 20 - Reflections
It is interesting to me that no one really knows who you are. I think about this a lot. I have lived with my wife for thirteen-ish years, and we were the best of friends for years before that, but her idea of who I am is completely different than my idea of me. I am fickle and insecure; I tend to make impulsive assumptions based on no good evidence. But to her I am intelligent and joyful and resolved; she thinks that I have answers borne of some innate wisdom, but the truth is I do not.
This is not to say that I am secretly rotten and she foolishly thinks I am good, but just that in your own head you are usually the worst version of yourself, you seem to only internalize the things that have made you ashamed; rarely ever immortalizing the kindnesses you have shown. I have the awareness to realize that my seemingly negative view of myself is no more valid than her beautifully optimistic one, though it feels like it is.
When you glimpse your reflection you can see the machinery in which your mind resides, and you likely have disdain for it. Your body is imperfect, and you feel that you deserve better. How unfair things are. If the genes that combined to form you just aligned slightly differently, that nose of yours would have been a little more petite, or your ears may not have been so unappealing. Maybe if you had some self-control for once, your pants would not fit so poorly, maybe if you were just responsible you could feel better and finally be a morning person.
The constant critiquing of yourself likely makes you embody your reflection as someone else. That is the mirror version of me, the real me is in fact a bit better. I am just catching myself at a bad time, I am usually more put together. I do not need to love that person, that person is someone else.
This is a picture of a stranger eating alone at my favorite pizza place. I see his reflection, haunting in the glass and I think of my relationship with my own. I wonder about the universality of self-critique and am comforted for some reason. I think of the people who love him and see him differently than he views himself. Maybe he has accepted that view, and that reflection accompanying him is not a sinister one, but a companion. Maybe he is not eating alone, but with someone he enjoys.
