One of the great pleasures of the blog world is, of course, becoming good friends with people whom you have never actually met...and every now and then, discovering tastes and circumstances in common that make you feel this might just be a long-lost relative. Jo(e) and I have found so much in common,- not just the presence in both our lives of a Shaggy Haired Boy,- but it seemed almost uncanny to read her latest post.
Still hampered by a knee injury, Jo(e) has been exploring self-portrait photography, and considering the person she sees. As part of the spiritual direction course, I recently spent half an hour (3o whole minutes...believe you me, that's an incredibly long time) looking at myself in a small mirror and...yup...considering the person I saw.
I hated the process.
I'm not unused to looking at myself.
I'm pretty well used to the idea that I'm now middle-aged, that my face is not going to stop being round, that some lines are now part of the deal, no matter how assiduous my use of moisturisers.
I like most bits of being me, in the here and now.
I can even deal with my face when it is animated, responding to another person.
But at rest, it seemed hardly alive....reminding me that I only really feel like myself when I'm relating to another person.
Dammit. That's exactly the sort of thing this sort of thing is supposed to make you consider.
I rather wish it wasn't.