Days go by and I do not look in the mirror. Occasionally, I'll steal a glimpse of myself in the rear view mirror or when I pass a shop window or in the kettle as I make tea. I catch images of me in my thirties. I have begun to observe how my face is changing. The lines have finally emerged to illuminate all of the hidden, withheld, carelessly and freely expressed feelings that I have and continue to channel through my facial muscles. A close friend once told me that what I'm feeling is always so obviously written all over my face. This surprised me initially, but I have tiny witnesses day in and day out who corroborate this opinion. They take note of the subtle crinkling of my eyes or an askance turn down of my lip, telegraphing subtle shifts in my mood. As I age, I allow the gauzy mask to slip. What does it reveal? How will my kids remember me? How will I remember myself?
Despite being an introvert, I do often process big life events (and many many small ones) out loud by verbally hashing out my thoughts with whoever will put up with me. But this morning when I woke up to the big red blotch on the U.S. map...all my /the words fell out. They fell out unsaid, unformed. Got to work and probably , in another time, would have annoyed my co-workers, dominating the conversation with my verbal extrusions, but not today. I just mutely stared across at them and nodded. My dad came for lunch. Normally, we relish a good political diatribe, especially when we feel sure of our perspective, but this time, all I could do was munch on fries and marvel at all the unarticulated thoughts that I was not even bothering to retrieve. The silence inside me was noticeable. Social media was awash with reactions and I just looked away. I couldn't bear to read one word about it. I was not receptive to any reactions, accusations, reflections, words...
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