I think that life comes in chapters.
I have many chapters behind me already.
When I get asked about something from my past, I have to think about what chapter they ask.
“Was that before, during, or after I lived in Virginia? Was that before 9/11? Was Nana still alive then? Was that before Tony died?” …And so on.
When I look back at pictures of my past chapters, I notice that I had a different look in each photo.
In each chapter, I tried to define myself with my hairstyle or clothes.—I was trying to “fit in” into this world.
Not too long ago, I walked by a mirror and noticed that I had visibly changed in my face again.
I remember in my late ’20s when I walked by a mirror and, for the first time, noticed that I had changed and was older-looking.
It scared me. It terrified me.
I was no longer young-looking.
I got bummed out for that whole week.
The last time that I walked by the mirror was different, though.
I noticed my face was older-looking.
My hair had more grey in it and was not as soft as it used to be.
I thought about all the chapters of my life, and I smiled.
I thought to myself, “I look pretty good for a man who has written so many chapters.”
