Who’s in Your Mirror

Something happened to my bathroom mirror around the time I turned sixty. The face of an older
guy began showing up. He came every morning. Even with one eye closed, I’d couldn’t replace
him with the younger one. The one I was. I didn’t want to be that guy with the gray hair and
blemishes?

Acceptance didn’t come easy or fast. It came as one of those self-realization experiences. The
ones in which you accept a new reality. I’ve found that it’s rather enjoyable being the guy in the
mirror. The one I am.

Who’s in your mirror these days?