Mirror, Mirror, on the Wall: Who’s the Most Worn of All?

At some point, maybe around forty, maybe fifty, the mirror stops being a tool and starts acting like a critic. You catch your reflection and notice things you never used to: a silver thread of hair, a softer jawline, skin that no longer bounces back like it used to. You tilt your head, squint, and think, When did that happen?

But then you glance at your boots. They’re older too: creased, darkened, softened by time. The leather isn’t what it was at thirty either. Yet somehow, they look better. Richer. More alive.

The funny thing about aging is that we give too much attention to the wrong mirror. We stare at the one that reflects our face, not the one that reflects our journey.

And where attention goes, creation flows, that’s metaphysics 101. Keep staring at what’s “fading,” and you’ll miss what’s deepening.

Maybe the trick isn’t to stop aging, it’s to change what we admire. When you can look at your boots and love the way they’ve aged, you start to understand your own reflection differently. You see time not as something that takes, but as something that builds.

So next time the mirror says, “You’re getting old,” look down instead. Those boots have been through rain, dirt, and hell, and they’re still standing tall. You are, too.