Starting to See Myself as an Older Person
The first time I can remember realizing that I was aging was when I noticed that my premature grey had matured.
No more random strands popping up here and there once in a while. Instead, the grey was now fully committed to growing in robust patches. Soon, the entire lengths of a couple of locs were more grey than brown. I started getting grey strands in my eyebrows, and sometimes when I’d see myself in a picture, I’d say, I can’t be that grey, can I? That can’t be what I actually look like, because it isn’t what I see in the mirror.
Next, I started noticing how asymmetrical my face is. I actually thought maybe something was wrong because one side seemed to droop more and one side seemed fuller. I confirmed with my dentist that nothing was wrong. I just subconsciously use one side of my face more than the other when I eat, sleep, talk, and make expressions. In fact, no one’s face is truly symmetrical.
The interesting thing is that I probably would never have noticed any of this if I hadn’t started being on video calls and editing videos of myself regularly.
I started doing that a little before quarantine, when I briefly worked a side hustle as an English tutor for children in China. Then, of course, that experience prepared me to teach my first graders both virtually and hybrid during lockdown.
Suddenly, I was seeing my own face a lot.
And now that I’m regularly making YouTube videos, I see it even more.
The Face We Imagine
What I’ve come to understand is that, for most of our waking moments, we can’t see our own faces. So much of our idea of what we look like comes from our imagination.
This reminded me of something I learned years ago from Scott McCloud’s Understanding Comics: The Invisible Art. McCloud explores the idea that while we see other people’s faces in great physical detail, our internal image of our own face is much less detailed. We know we have eyes, a nose, a mouth, hair, and all of our other features, but we don’t walk around with a crystal-clear image of our own face in our minds.
Close your eyes, or look straight ahead at a fixed point, and imagine what you look like right now.
Can you describe the exact shapes of your eyes, nose, and mouth? How does your hairline frame your face? Exactly how many blemishes are on your skin, and where are they located? When you smile, how do your brow and the corners of your eyes change?
Can you get a completely clear and accurate picture of your own face without looking in a mirror?
I can’t.
So it makes sense that we’re sometimes uncomfortable when we actually see ourselves. The image we paint in our minds is sort of airbrushed. We have a general awareness that the wrinkles, greys, moles, and other changes exist, but we don’t see them in detail all day long.
On top of that, photographs are the opposite of what we’re accustomed to seeing in the mirror. Another weird thing is that we’re literally the only person who sees that version of ourselves. Everybody else sees us more like the way we appear in pictures.
So maybe it isn’t so strange to occasionally look at a photograph and think, Wait. Is that really me?
When Aging Becomes Harder to Ignore
Now, at 53, I’m noticing dedicated wrinkles, skin beginning to sag, and yes, even more grey.
But it isn’t only about what I see.
Physically, I notice that I have less stamina and capacity for lifting heavy things. I can get completely exhausted and sore. Sometimes I even get back spasms and painful tendinitis in my arm.
Mentally, I’m a bit more forgetful. I can’t see or hear as well as I used to.
None of these changes happened overnight. But together, they’re making aging feel much more real to me.
And they’ve made me think differently about the older people I grew up around.
What Did It Feel Like for Them?
In the past, when I observed older people, I didn’t think much about the fact that they were once young.
They had to experience this too.
They had to watch as their faces changed. Their hair changed. Their bodies changed. Their strength and abilities changed.
And now I find myself wondering: How did they feel about it?
How are we supposed to cope with this inevitable transition?
It’s not something I remember people talking about, especially my grandmothers and their generation.
Recently, my cousin—who is actually more like an aunt because she’s from my father’s generation—was talking about her mother. She told me that her mother had been fully grey at a very young age.
I said I didn’t remember that.
She said, “Well, you know back then they all wore wigs.”
And she was right.
We never really saw their natural hair.
That little conversation stayed with me because it made me realize how much I simply didn’t know about the aging experiences of the women who came before me.
What did they think when they looked in the mirror? Did they struggle with the changes? Did they eventually stop caring? Were they frightened? Did they accept it?
I don’t know.
Letting Go of What I Thought Mattered
For the last few years, aging has been especially scary for me as a single woman who hopes to one day find a life partner.
Unfortunately, I grew up like a lot of us, coveting an idealized version of beauty. We watched women like Bo Derek, Brooke Shields, and Christie Brinkley and wanted to look just like them.
And all my life, I received the message that outer beauty is what attracts a man.
So there’s something particularly scary about realizing, as a single woman, that outward beauty really does fade.
I’m only recently becoming more comfortable with the idea that what’s on the inside really does count.
And not just when it comes to romantic relationships.
Any future relationships I develop—including friendships—need to be based on something deeper than outward appearances.
I’m beginning to let go of that misguided quest for love based primarily on how someone looks, including how I look.
I certainly haven’t figured out how to feel about every part of getting older. I’m still noticing changes. I’m still occasionally surprised by the person I see in a photograph. And I still have questions I wish I could ask some of the older people who came before me.
Maybe that’s part of what makes this stage of life so strange.
I’m experiencing something that countless generations experienced before me.
I just don’t remember anyone telling me what it would feel like.
What about you? Did the older people in your life ever talk about what aging actually felt like? If you’re experiencing some of these changes now, what do you wish someone had told you about getting older?
For more conversation on this and other early retiree topics, be sure to browse the playlists on my YouTube channel and visit my podcast on Spotify.
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