Selfies. They are for the young at heart and the young at (wrinkle free) skin. In other words, not for me. I can't tell you how many times I have grabbed my phone to snap a pic and the camera, thanks to my darling wrinkle free faced, selfie taking children, is reversed to selfie mode so I look at the phone and BOOM there it is, my 46 year old reflection six inches from my face. I swear I have screamed and dropped my phone (twice). Who it THAT? What happend to that young at heart, wrinkle free, firm skin, crease-less browed girl I use to know? I think she can be found in old Polaroid Intamatic photos from the 1970's. Sigh.
Yes, the older you get, the less you recognize that reflection in your iPhone, iPad or mirror. Is that because how we see ourselves in our mind is not really what reflects on that high grade iPhone glass or are we just are worst self critics? Perhaps it's just our old friend Denial playing tricks on us by replacing that high grade iPhone glass with some distorted, age advancing glass? I'm going with Denial...as I so often do.
Yes, the older you get, the less you recognize that reflection in your iPhone, iPad or mirror. Is that because how we see ourselves in our mind is not really what reflects on that high grade iPhone glass or are we just are worst self critics? Perhaps it's just our old friend Denial playing tricks on us by replacing that high grade iPhone glass with some distorted, age advancing glass? I'm going with Denial...as I so often do.
I've always been a bit envious of my husband Dan and his reflection. Not only is he eight years older than me, but, he also happens to look eight years younger than me which makes me hate him...a little. You know the old, haggard looking woman versus the distinguished looking man phenomenom? Yeah, that. So unfair. Let these guys push out an 8 pound baby or two or three and see how "distinguished" they look then.
Although I think Dan is remarkably handsome (and I love/hate him for it), it's not so much his "distinguished" looks that I envy most about my husband's reflection, it's his ability to see a fragment of our 13 year old son in himself when he looks in the mirror (Dan doesn't do selfies or iPhones so he only sees his reflection in mirrors). A son who I would give anything to resemble me in the slightest. A son who I have spent 13 years trying to understand, trying to "get". A son who someday when the iPhone 15 comes out and is able to capture what a person looks like on the inside, will look remarkably like my husband and nothing at all like me.
Ever since Ryan was little and I obsessed and Googled over does he or does he not have The A Word, Dan would shrug off my obsessive worry and tell me, "he's fine". The word "fine" started being almost as vulgar to me as those other two F words..."friends" and the one that rhymes with truck. How could Ryan be "fine"? He spent so much time alone, his sensory system was constantly on overdrive and even though he was completely verbal, he had very little to say. "Fine" was not what I saw, but, my husband did.
My huband saw "fine" because he saw Ryan each and every time he glanced in the mirror at his own reflection. Dan understands that an overloaded sensory system can make you edgy and crabby. He understands that a quiet night by his firepit with only the joyful singing of crickets buzzing in his ears is better than an overcrowded, loud party with multiple conversations buzzing in his ears. Dan also understands that just because you can speak, doesn't mean you have something to say. Mostly though, my husband understands Ryan, in a way I never will. When I realized this, when I understood that Dan would always have a connection with Ryan that I wouldn't, it kind of made me want to slap him in his distinguished looking 54 year old face.
Although I think Dan is remarkably handsome (and I love/hate him for it), it's not so much his "distinguished" looks that I envy most about my husband's reflection, it's his ability to see a fragment of our 13 year old son in himself when he looks in the mirror (Dan doesn't do selfies or iPhones so he only sees his reflection in mirrors). A son who I would give anything to resemble me in the slightest. A son who I have spent 13 years trying to understand, trying to "get". A son who someday when the iPhone 15 comes out and is able to capture what a person looks like on the inside, will look remarkably like my husband and nothing at all like me.
Ever since Ryan was little and I obsessed and Googled over does he or does he not have The A Word, Dan would shrug off my obsessive worry and tell me, "he's fine". The word "fine" started being almost as vulgar to me as those other two F words..."friends" and the one that rhymes with truck. How could Ryan be "fine"? He spent so much time alone, his sensory system was constantly on overdrive and even though he was completely verbal, he had very little to say. "Fine" was not what I saw, but, my husband did.
My huband saw "fine" because he saw Ryan each and every time he glanced in the mirror at his own reflection. Dan understands that an overloaded sensory system can make you edgy and crabby. He understands that a quiet night by his firepit with only the joyful singing of crickets buzzing in his ears is better than an overcrowded, loud party with multiple conversations buzzing in his ears. Dan also understands that just because you can speak, doesn't mean you have something to say. Mostly though, my husband understands Ryan, in a way I never will. When I realized this, when I understood that Dan would always have a connection with Ryan that I wouldn't, it kind of made me want to slap him in his distinguished looking 54 year old face.
Dan does not have an autism diagnosis, but, his reflection resembles Ryan's more than mine ever will. They are cut from the same cloth and both of them would tell me that they did not come from cloth. Ryan would not understand the idiom, Dan would understand it, he would just think it's a ridiculous thing to say. Father, son, similiar reflections. And this is why, coming from that same cloth (so, what if I'm ridiculous) through every new challenge, through every new stage, through every new heartbreak Ryan has endured, Dan has assured me, "he's fine Mama".
On many occasions, the words, "he's fine Mama" would be followed by, "look at me, I'm fine" which made me want to slap that 8 years younger looking reflection again. I appreciated that Dan saw Ryan in his reflection, but, Ryan's reflection was still different, his struggles greater. Back when Denial and Clueless were still my best friends, I wanted to help Ryan "overcome" his autism. First step, a listening therapy program that cost about $6,000. Dan resisted for awhile because, "he's fine", but, eventually I wore Dan down. At the time it seemed like the therapy helped, and maybe it did, but, now years later, I can't help but wonder if Dan was right, that with or without the therapy, Ryan "is fine".
Just last week, when a painful friend experienced happened for Ryan, I found myself crying in Dan's arms and hearing those words again, "he's fine Mama". Dan assured me that Ryan is "finding his way" and although it has always taken him a bit longer than other kids his age, Ryan finds his way and he always seems to be "fine". Just like I hate that Dan doesn't look his age when I see his reflection in our shared bathroom mirror, I typically hate when he is right (because inevitably that means I am wrong), but, there is no hate, there is no cursing him under my breath, there is only a little bit of envy and a great deal of love and gratitude when it comes to seeing himself in his son.
On many occasions, the words, "he's fine Mama" would be followed by, "look at me, I'm fine" which made me want to slap that 8 years younger looking reflection again. I appreciated that Dan saw Ryan in his reflection, but, Ryan's reflection was still different, his struggles greater. Back when Denial and Clueless were still my best friends, I wanted to help Ryan "overcome" his autism. First step, a listening therapy program that cost about $6,000. Dan resisted for awhile because, "he's fine", but, eventually I wore Dan down. At the time it seemed like the therapy helped, and maybe it did, but, now years later, I can't help but wonder if Dan was right, that with or without the therapy, Ryan "is fine".
Just last week, when a painful friend experienced happened for Ryan, I found myself crying in Dan's arms and hearing those words again, "he's fine Mama". Dan assured me that Ryan is "finding his way" and although it has always taken him a bit longer than other kids his age, Ryan finds his way and he always seems to be "fine". Just like I hate that Dan doesn't look his age when I see his reflection in our shared bathroom mirror, I typically hate when he is right (because inevitably that means I am wrong), but, there is no hate, there is no cursing him under my breath, there is only a little bit of envy and a great deal of love and gratitude when it comes to seeing himself in his son.
Selfies may be for the young at heart, those who are not terrified when they see their reflection up close and personal, but, sometimes it's still fun to jump on the younger generation's trend. And just like Ryan (who also despises selfies as is evident in this pic where he is shooting my iPhone), Dan could care less about what's trending what's in, or what EVERYONE is doing, but, for someone like me, someone whose reflection is so different than both of theirs, I like the occasional selfie....with a nice blurring, dimming filter.
It's fun to drag my husband into one of my selfies every now and then while he grumbles and complains about it. For him it may be ridiculous, narcissistic and trendy, but, for me, having his eight year younger looking face next to mine (still hate him a little) is a reminder of how much harder this autism journey would be on my own, without his reflection in my iPhone.
It's fun to drag my husband into one of my selfies every now and then while he grumbles and complains about it. For him it may be ridiculous, narcissistic and trendy, but, for me, having his eight year younger looking face next to mine (still hate him a little) is a reminder of how much harder this autism journey would be on my own, without his reflection in my iPhone.
Selfie stick would totally come in handy, especially after age 40.
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