A recent haircut led me to rethink my profile picture and author photo. Much to my surprise, the previous one turned out to be seven years old.
So, ignoring all the advice about paying for professional photography (where’s the fun in that?), my husband grabbed his camera and cheerfully started snapping.
I admit, when I first saw the results, I was dismayed. One of our chosen locations, it seemed, had particularly unflattering light and the lines on my face shocked me. Happily, the second batch was better, although I still felt melancholy about my forty-something wrinkles, compared to the relative youth of my thirties!
But then I got to thinking about all the incredible life experiences which led to that facial topography. All the beaches, mountains, fields and snow I’ve played in. The miles I’ve run, biked, kayaked and flown. The minor disasters, the unexpected capsizing, the never-again experiments:
And I realised that every line on my face represents an adventure, tiny or grand. Every wrinkle stems from a smile, a frown, a joke, a hoot, a fear, a tear.
I’m not saying I’m not tempted to hire a professional photographer and let him or her find a more flattering vantage point. I am, and I might.
But, it’s not time for a mid-life crisis. There’s no use in lamenting my salad days. And it’s definitely not the moment to throw my money into a miracle face cream. Instead, it’s time to dust off the bucket list, celebrate the wrinkles already earned, relive the stories they tell, and head off out to write some more.
How about you? Are you at ease with the story on your face?
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