Post #3 from our Easter week in Burgundy.
Not always, but often, I take a picture of myself reflected in a window or mirror not out of vanity, but out of some existential need to prove that “I was there”—there in Oporto or Mauritius or Savannah or the Maldives or my bathroom in Milan.
I see this woman getting older, I see her eye glasses changing, I see her taste in clothes remaining relatively steady, her posture is probably even better than before. Time goes by, yoga happens, and before you know it, it matters whether you slouch or not. I see her edited into settings she never dreamed of as a child. I see her passing through, passing by. Moving forward, pausing to take a look at where she happens to be. I don’t say “happens” lightly. But maybe I should…”the incredible lightness of being” and all that.
But this time, the camera and the window have played a telling trick on me: they show me ghostlike layered over-under-into the background. The Universe is playing with photoshop again to prove its point: “Charlotte, you’re not as in control of what and who you would become as you thought you were. Aren’t you glad?”
Yes, I am. Glad. And very, very grateful.
I prefer not to look at my reflection any more, and I really hate photos of myself. Sometimes I catch sight of myself and don’t recognise that oldish lady.
I understand that in a way. But you are lovely! You snuck one picture of yourself into the parade photos and you looked very much like someone it would be a pleasure to meet…
I love this so much, for missing you so much, it makes me feel very close to you.
Thanks Shannon, thanks Mom! I miss you both too…that is the downside of all the happiness, being away from people I’d love to share life with. I think that’s why I write this blog.
i’m there and not there, too. sigh…….how will anyone know that i’ve been here? even with a picture…..really? real?
ps: and thanks for sharing! i love seeing what you look like. and where you are.
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