It was a Friday. A dull dreary, ordinary Friday.
Grey sky, snow dumped on pavements, warnings of falling icicles - just another
winter's day in a small town in Massachusetts.
I was feeling as dull, dreary and ordinary as the day. Of course my rear
view mirror revealed that my state of mind was a good reflection of my
appearance. Grey hair, splotchy skin tones, life lines all added up to
the realisation that I had zipped past the prime of life a fair number of years
prior. I sighed as I locked my car. Five steps and a promise of
improvement to my appearance was within reach.
I held the door open for a young woman who had no right to be entering the salon. Her luxurious hair lay upon straight shoulders and down a long back. Fitting black trousers, expensive boots, a deep red jacket and a cream blouse completed the look that screamed both youth and loveliness. My melancholy deepened.
The young woman spoke. Her voice was pleasant and she appeared to be pleasant as she conversed with the receptionist. I took off my heavy, brown man's coat. I hung it beside a camel coloured wool coat and a dark blue full length coat. Mine looked as if a pair of work boots should be placed beneath it. My shoulders sagged as I waited for my turn at the desk.
Seated beside the vision of attractiveness my eyes strayed to the mirror in front of me. Gasp! Shudder! Gulp! Our gazes crossed. She smiled. In that smile lay twenty odd years of being told that she was gorgeous and the knowledge that the mirrors in which she looked confirmed the statements. She was not smug. She was not unkind. She was .... young and confident in her youth. What she saw beside her was something familiar but so far removed from her reality that she could not consider that one day she might be the person on her right.
The hairdresser asked me what I wanted to have done. I sat in silence.
The list was long:
go back thirty plus years, celebrate my youth whilst I had it, remove brown age spots from my face, remove the frown lines, find the glow of youth beneath the skin I now have, discover a hidden well of energy, read for a doctorate, write a successful novel, be a world traveler without any fear of flying, live in a cottage in Dorset with a country garden, have a career ....
Tears were dangerously close. A puzzled expression crossed the hairdresser's face. I took a deep breath.
"A trim please," the words fell from my lips.
"Anything different?" she inquired.
I shook my head. Downhearted I followed her to the sink where she washed my hair. I plodded back to the chair and the mirror. Sitting down I lowered my eyes. The mirror was a brutal reminder of what I was not.
From the chair next to me the young woman chatted to her hairdresser. She was engaged and planning her wedding day. Information about bridesmaids who were not cooperating with her, future in-laws who wanted the opposite of what she and her fiance wanted, a mother who was demanding that they have masses of flowers when neither of them liked flowers - the list was long. I smiled. At the moment of engagement there are two people. Five minutes later there are two families with opinions and demands. Five years later there are children being raised and grandparents with endless advice and criticism. Ten years later there are a few gray hairs, orthodontists, extra-curriculum activities to pay for and get to, a budget that won't stretch quite far enough and a wedding photo on a wall of a couple who are fondly remembered when there is a spare second in the day. Thirty years later you are hanging a coat on a rack and wondering how you convinced yourself that the practical purchase was preferable to the long scarlet coat that was four racks away.
I grinned. The mirror reflected a gray haired fifty five year old. What it did not reflect was me. I bear visible signs of age. I walk more slowly than I did five years ago. Time has passed since my brief glory days but that is okay because I have stories to tell, memories stored, some successes and some failures and many wonderfully ordinary days that have been forgotten but are the threads of a good life. I have walked along roads and paths now gone, can not recall a large percentage of that which I have learned, read books and reread them because I could not remember reading them the first time. My tastes in music, dress, literature, movies, food have all undergone changes. I am a little less sensitive to the opinions others have of me. All of which means that in many, many ways I am exactly like the majority of people my age. Except that each of us knows that what lies beyond the mirror is that which makes us so very different from each other.
The young woman was trying different hairstyles for her wedding day. She turned to ask my opinion of the current style - she clearly favoured it. I smiled at her.
"You will be beautiful on your wedding day," I assured her. "Chose the style that you like the best. Your opinion is the only one that really matters."
She cocked her head to one side glancing in the mirror as she did so.
"I guess you are right," she said. "This is the one," she told the hairdresser.
I wished her well and went out to pay.
As left the salon I was reminded that youth is precious and fleeting. If you are fortunate it is a stage of life not all of life. I will never know what her wedding day was like. I shall most probably never cross paths with her again but I wish her a life of ordinary days filled with all that makes a life worth celebrating. When her hair is gray and she worries about the fact that she no longer carries youth on her face I hope she can see that beneath the exterior lies a treasury of greater worth than any reflection in a mirror could ever reveal.
The reflection of time that we see in the mirror is also the blessing of time - even on a cold, gray Massachusetts winter day.
I held the door open for a young woman who had no right to be entering the salon. Her luxurious hair lay upon straight shoulders and down a long back. Fitting black trousers, expensive boots, a deep red jacket and a cream blouse completed the look that screamed both youth and loveliness. My melancholy deepened.
The young woman spoke. Her voice was pleasant and she appeared to be pleasant as she conversed with the receptionist. I took off my heavy, brown man's coat. I hung it beside a camel coloured wool coat and a dark blue full length coat. Mine looked as if a pair of work boots should be placed beneath it. My shoulders sagged as I waited for my turn at the desk.
Seated beside the vision of attractiveness my eyes strayed to the mirror in front of me. Gasp! Shudder! Gulp! Our gazes crossed. She smiled. In that smile lay twenty odd years of being told that she was gorgeous and the knowledge that the mirrors in which she looked confirmed the statements. She was not smug. She was not unkind. She was .... young and confident in her youth. What she saw beside her was something familiar but so far removed from her reality that she could not consider that one day she might be the person on her right.
The hairdresser asked me what I wanted to have done. I sat in silence.
The list was long:
go back thirty plus years, celebrate my youth whilst I had it, remove brown age spots from my face, remove the frown lines, find the glow of youth beneath the skin I now have, discover a hidden well of energy, read for a doctorate, write a successful novel, be a world traveler without any fear of flying, live in a cottage in Dorset with a country garden, have a career ....
Tears were dangerously close. A puzzled expression crossed the hairdresser's face. I took a deep breath.
"A trim please," the words fell from my lips.
"Anything different?" she inquired.
I shook my head. Downhearted I followed her to the sink where she washed my hair. I plodded back to the chair and the mirror. Sitting down I lowered my eyes. The mirror was a brutal reminder of what I was not.
From the chair next to me the young woman chatted to her hairdresser. She was engaged and planning her wedding day. Information about bridesmaids who were not cooperating with her, future in-laws who wanted the opposite of what she and her fiance wanted, a mother who was demanding that they have masses of flowers when neither of them liked flowers - the list was long. I smiled. At the moment of engagement there are two people. Five minutes later there are two families with opinions and demands. Five years later there are children being raised and grandparents with endless advice and criticism. Ten years later there are a few gray hairs, orthodontists, extra-curriculum activities to pay for and get to, a budget that won't stretch quite far enough and a wedding photo on a wall of a couple who are fondly remembered when there is a spare second in the day. Thirty years later you are hanging a coat on a rack and wondering how you convinced yourself that the practical purchase was preferable to the long scarlet coat that was four racks away.
I grinned. The mirror reflected a gray haired fifty five year old. What it did not reflect was me. I bear visible signs of age. I walk more slowly than I did five years ago. Time has passed since my brief glory days but that is okay because I have stories to tell, memories stored, some successes and some failures and many wonderfully ordinary days that have been forgotten but are the threads of a good life. I have walked along roads and paths now gone, can not recall a large percentage of that which I have learned, read books and reread them because I could not remember reading them the first time. My tastes in music, dress, literature, movies, food have all undergone changes. I am a little less sensitive to the opinions others have of me. All of which means that in many, many ways I am exactly like the majority of people my age. Except that each of us knows that what lies beyond the mirror is that which makes us so very different from each other.
The young woman was trying different hairstyles for her wedding day. She turned to ask my opinion of the current style - she clearly favoured it. I smiled at her.
"You will be beautiful on your wedding day," I assured her. "Chose the style that you like the best. Your opinion is the only one that really matters."
She cocked her head to one side glancing in the mirror as she did so.
"I guess you are right," she said. "This is the one," she told the hairdresser.
I wished her well and went out to pay.
As left the salon I was reminded that youth is precious and fleeting. If you are fortunate it is a stage of life not all of life. I will never know what her wedding day was like. I shall most probably never cross paths with her again but I wish her a life of ordinary days filled with all that makes a life worth celebrating. When her hair is gray and she worries about the fact that she no longer carries youth on her face I hope she can see that beneath the exterior lies a treasury of greater worth than any reflection in a mirror could ever reveal.
The reflection of time that we see in the mirror is also the blessing of time - even on a cold, gray Massachusetts winter day.
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