When You Look in a Mirror

When you look at yourself in a mirror—really look—who might you see looking back? It’s not a trick question. Perhaps you see a younger you—before the grey appeared? Perhaps you see one of your parents? Perhaps another relative? Or even—if you are a parent—you might recognise how one of your children has come to resemble you.

There might be times when we see our disappointments looking back at us. We might see worry lines from a job or relationship which is not going as we had hoped. Equally there are times when we’re feeling on top of the world, and we see that reflected in our face. Aesthetics aside, whether we are happy, tired, anxious, or full of energy and loving life—all of these emotions or feelings are reflected back to us. No amount of hair-combing, suntan or make-up will hide the truth in the mirror.

Now let me stress that I am not suggesting we indulge in narcissistic self-indulgence regarding our image. (One DJ Trump is enough!) But for those of us not usually given to self-examination, a hard look in the mirror can be a profound experience. It begs questions, such as: Is this the person I thought I would be? Am I truly happy with myself at this stage of life? Am I as truthful, compassionate, generous as I would like to be? Or am I spiteful, jealous, mean spirited? What would I say to the younger version of me about the life ahead? Would I tell my younger self to make exactly the same choices or would I do the exact opposite?—or somewhere in the middle?

I hear some of you thinking, « Okay, you brought it up, so who or what do you see in the mirror, Lawson? » Fair enough. I will answer my question in two parts. The second will follow in a subsequent blog. The older I get, the more I see my father’s eyes looking back at me. My mother had sparkling blues eyes, but my siblings and I all inherited the Lawson coal-dark eyes—deep brown. When I was a mischievous youngster, I often saw those dark eyes become almost laser-like when my father gave me ‘the look.’ I know such a look has emanated from my eyes more times than I would have wished through the years. I also see my mother’s side of the family in my bone structure: longer and leaner than the Lawson, rounded face…also more prone to smile.

I also see in my face, as it were, human tree rings(!). I see a life that has recapitulated the generations that have come before me: the great (x3) uncle who loved animals and kept a pet squirrel in his coat pocket. I see the great-grandfather, after whom I was named, who was also an ordained minister, like so many of his/my forebears. I see the numerous relatives over the generations who took a great interest in biblical and ancient languages—exactly as I have done. I haven’t done these things because my forebears had done so, not consciously anyway. The simple fact is I didn’t even know the facts about those ancestors (or the pocket squirrel!) until only a few years ago, after I had retired.
More latterly, I see my father, who—after having escaped the hard life of a share-cropper’s son—became a pilot in the Second World War. And yet, having escaped the farm life, he surprised his siblings by buying a farm, where he (and our family) spent time when he wasn’t flying; ditching his crisp, clean uniforms for dirty dungarees! So I see him in me (or me in him) because, after having lived a more urban work life, I now live on a little farm in Basse Normandie, where I keep goats and hens, grow fruits and vegetables, heat with wood and can usually be found in dirt-covered jeans. I have also begun listening to country music on an almost daily basis. (You can take the boy out of Carolina…)

Finally, I see a fairly clear image in the mirror. Yes, he’s tattered, silver-haired and often unkempt, but who cares? I certainly don’t. I’ve come to love the guy I see in the mirror.