The man in the mirror.

We all have a self-image. Inside our mind’s eye, we are a certain age, our hair is a certain length, our jawlines and chins are a certain shape (and number!), our shoulders are a certain width, our teeth are a certain shine, our eyes have a certain sparkle, and our general visage is a certain handsomeness.

And then, when we look into the mirror, we see what we think we are. It is only in photographs that we wonder how we look the way we do. It is like listening to one’s own voice played back from a recording. It jars. It disturbs. It surprises. It throws us in denial. ‘That’s certainly not how I sound like,’ we bristle. We want to believe that’s not us.

Sometimes, this realisation happens even when we look in the mirror. Rarely. But it does. Especially if we are not just looking, but ‘looking’ looking (you’d be surprised how often we look but don’t see what we are looking at). Those times, when we actually see ourselves, we are shocked at the disparity between the person we think we are and the person staring back at us from the mirror. Sometimes, the experience is pleasant, sometimes not. But it is always disconcerting. Like we have witnessed a glitch in the Matrix.

This morning was such an instance. I was washing my hands at the club when I looked up and saw this man standing there behind the mirror. He looked like me. Only younger than I thought I was! I stared. He started back. I said, ‘Well, hello there, young man. Hope you have a great day.’ And then, walked out with a smile, something that should last me the day.

So, how’s your morning going?