the girl in the mirror

There's this funny thing. Most of the time when I look in the mirror-- all the time when I have my glasses on-- I see pretty much the same face I've seen since I started looking in the mirror regularly somewhere around eleven, the age when I started wearing make up (before that, I avoided the mirror, but that's another story for another day / middle of the night). I see the glasses, the crooked teeth and therefore a slightly lopsided lip-line that has to be corrected when I put lipstick on, the bangs that don't like to lie flat, the chin with it's three scars, the nose that could be better shaped, the green eyes that aren't like my mom's (her's are dark jade green and don't have rings or lines or any gold or anything). I don't think I've changed that much since I started looking how I was going to look as an adult,

But the last few months, when I look in the mirror without my glasses, like when I'm putting on or taking off my makeup, it's almost like I'm seeing this other person that's underneath. I think maybe my glasses keep me from noticing that I've grown up. I use face creams morning and night now. I usually remember to take my makeup off. I have little baby crow's feet from laughing and squinting from bad prescriptions and too much sun. I have patches of dry skin and patches of oily skin that need to be taken care of. My nose looks shapelier without the glasses, like it's only pretending to be sort of fat and blobby-- and I know for a fact that it's been improved by that breaking it got when I was hit by the car that time. My eyes look bigger, and my eyebrows arch better. Makeup looks different, like it wants to be more glamorous. My jawline looks more defined. The teeth don't look so out of place-- they add character.

Is it just that I'm seeing who I am now that I'm grown up? I was born when my mom was twenty-four, so when she was my age as I am now, that's when I was starting to solidify memories-- this is sort of how my mom looks in my memory. This isn't the girl I associate with me, this is a woman who appreciates Yves Saint Laurent's new perfume, who wants to have babies if her ovaries would cooperate, who's trying to build a proper career so she doesn't have to work retail anymore, who knows the difference between wines and has a preference, who usually orders vodka and cran with a twist of lime when she's at a bar, who presents papers at a conference where moderately famous people know her name. This is a woman who could be gorgeous. This is a woman who knows what she wants out of life, and maybe one of those things is a darker hair color and flat iron combo. Maybe one of those things is a husband. One of those things is definitely a shelf full of her books when she visits the bookstore. Definitely a house on a hill overlooking water, and a writing room with good light and green walls.

She's a little intimidating, and I think sometimes I skip the nightly routine because I'm not ready to be her.

But I think it'll be great when I am. One of my friends said that when she hit her thirties, she was relieved that she didn't have to worry about not being wild enough to be a typical twenty-something; I think I understand what she's talking about.