The Moment Reality Hits
There’s something different about catching your reflection unexpectedly versus looking in your familiar bathroom mirror. Last week, walking past a shop window, I glimpsed someone I didn’t immediately recognize. Gray-haired, lined face, slightly stooped posture. It took a second to realize I was looking at myself.
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That stranger in the glass looked older than the person I see when I deliberately check my appearance each morning. Which version is telling the truth?
At almost 57, I’m starting to understand that aging plays tricks on us—not just physically, but in how we perceive ourselves. The mirror might not lie, but we’ve gotten remarkably good at selective seeing.
The Independence Illusion
When we’re younger, independence feels permanent. We can handle anything, go anywhere, defend ourselves if needed. But time has a way of shifting that confidence without announcing its arrival.
I notice it in small ways: taking longer to recover from physical work, being more cautious of my surroundings at night, feeling less certain I could handle confrontation if it arose. Nothing dramatic, just a gradual awareness that the invincibility I once took for granted was always an illusion.
Independence gradually evolves into something more akin to calculated self-reliance. We adapt, but the shift can leave us feeling unexpectedly isolated—not necessarily lonely, I love my alone time, but aware of our increasing vulnerability in ways we never considered at 30.
When did you first notice your sense of invincibility starting to fade?
The Confidence Crisis
This awareness has me considering something I never thought I’d try: boxing. Not to become a fighter at my age, but to reclaim a little of that physical confidence that aging has been quietly eroding. There’s something appealing about learning to defend a punch, to move with purpose, to feel capable in my own skin again.
Denzel Washington once said something about boxing teaching you who you are and who you’re not. I can’t help wondering what I might discover about myself in a boxing gym—probably that I’m not as tough as I imagine, but maybe that I’m tougher than I’ve recently felt.
It’s not about aggression or proving anything to others. It’s about reclaiming the feeling that this aging body can still surprise me, still learn something new, still command a little respect—starting with my own.
What physical challenge have you considered taking on to feel more capable in your own skin?
The Truth About Mirrors
Here’s something I’ve noticed: we see ourselves differently in familiar mirrors than we do in photos, videos, or unexpected reflections. In my bathroom mirror, I unconsciously focus on the parts that haven’t changed much—my eyes, my smile, the angles that feel most like “me.” They are like younger visual cues.
But catch me off guard in a photograph or shop window, and there’s no hiding from what time has actually accomplished. The deepened lines, the changed posture, the hair that’s mostly gray than brown now. I’ve written before about secretly wanting a makeover—that desire to tidy up a bit and do what you can with what you now have.
I think we develop a kind of selective perception over years of looking at ourselves. Maybe that’s protective—if we saw the full impact of aging every time we looked in a mirror, we might never leave the house! Our internal image updates slowly, mercifully, allowing us to maintain some connection to who we’ve always felt ourselves to be.
I remember my Father saying that hair loss is not all bad, because it happens over time.
Do you see yourself differently in mirrors versus photos? Which version feels more accurate?
Who We’ve Become vs. Who We Thought We’d Be
The stranger in that shop window made me wonder: would my younger self approve of who I’ve become? Not just physically, but the whole package—the choices I’ve made, the paths I’ve taken, the person I am at this stage.
At 25, I imagined I’d be more financially successful by now, maybe more conventionally accomplished. This is something you regular readers will know I’ve touched on before. But I also couldn’t have predicted the contentment I’d find in simple work, the peace that comes with caring less about others’ opinions, or the genuine satisfaction of helping students find their voices.
Some surprises about who I’ve become feel like losses—the casual physical confidence I once had, the assumption of endless time, the belief that major life changes were still ahead. Others feel like unexpected gifts—the ability to appreciate small moments, the freedom from needing to impress anyone, the clarity about what actually matters.
What would surprise your younger self most about who you’ve become?
The Things We Can’t Control
There’s not much we can do about the fundamental march of time on our bodies. We can sleep well, eat cleanly, exercise regularly, but we can’t stop hair from graying, skin from weathering, or joints from occasionally reminding us they’ve been in service for decades.
My eyesight isn’t what it was—I need reading glasses now, which somehow feels more significant than it should. If I put them on to look in the mirror, I see details I miss without them. More lines, more spots, more evidence of time’s patient work.
But here’s what I’ve always known: fighting these changes exhausts energy better spent elsewhere. Acceptance doesn’t mean giving up—it means directing effort toward what we can actually influence rather than raging against biology.
How have you learned to accept the physical changes you can’t control?
The Freedom of Authenticity
One unexpected gift of aging has been caring less about appearing younger than I am. I’ve found myself uninterested in dating, less concerned with seeming impressive, more focused on simply being genuine. Life feels simpler when you embrace this chapter and accept that youth is in the past.
I notice some people fight this transition harder than others—and that’s their choice to make. But for me, there’s unexpected relief in letting my age show honestly, in dressing for comfort rather than impression, in choosing authenticity over appearance.
Teaching people of all ages has helped with this perspective. When your focus is on serving others rather than attracting them, the pressure to appear other than you are naturally fades.
Have you found any unexpected freedoms in aging authentically?
The Motorcycle Dream
Despite all this talk of accepting physical limitations, I’m still chasing dreams like getting a motorcycle again—especially if I return to the UK. (I had motorcycles when I was young.) Maybe it’s about reclaiming some of that independence I mentioned, or perhaps it’s just about experiencing something I’ve always wanted to get back into – a little excitement at my own pace after literally riding around on trains the past two decades!
The dream isn’t about proving I’m still young; it’s about honoring the parts of myself that haven’t aged—curiosity, the desire for new experiences, the belief that there are still adventures ahead. Some dreams deserve pursuing regardless of what the calendar says.
What dream have you held onto that feels more important now, not less?
The Honest Accounting
Looking at that stranger in the shop window, I felt a mixture of surprise, acceptance, and determination. Surprise at how much has changed, acceptance of what can’t be reversed, and determination to make the most of what remains.
The mirror doesn’t lie, but it doesn’t tell the whole story either. It shows the surface changes but misses the internal growth, the accumulated wisdom, the deepened capacity for appreciation that often comes with age.
We’re all navigating this territory without a map. The best we can do is be honest about what we see, gentle with what we can’t change, and intentional about what we still want to experience.
What surprises you most about aging? How do you reconcile feeling young inside with looking older outside? What would your younger self think of the person you’ve become?
Share your thoughts below. I respond to every comment, and your experience often helps others more than mine does.
Here in Japan, I sometimes cross paths with men around my age on the street. There’s something in that brief nod—a mutual recognition of where we are in life, I think.