On mirrors and change

Do you sometimes look at yourself and don’t recognize who you see? Do you have to do a double take to make sure it’s actually you? That you are actually the one staring right back at you? This happens to me from time to time.

In my old apartment in NYC I had tons of mirrors. They were everywhere. The bedroom, the bathroom, the hallway and the entire living-dining room area too. There was no escaping mirrors there. Here, I only have two mirrors, one in the bathroom and one full size one on a closet door, which has seen better days.

I don’t miss the mirrors. I think I had gotten so used to them I didn’t use them much any more. I’m the kind of person who can go into a restaurant bathroom, pee, wash her hands, dry them, step outside and realize she didn’t check her teeth because she forgot to look at herself in the mirror. It happens to me constantly. I just forget. It’s not for lack of vanity, believe me, I’m as vain as the next girl. I think it’s more due to the fact that I lived with all those mirrors for so long, I just got immune to them.

In any case, last night as I was washing my face, I looked at myself in the mirror and didn’t quite recognize me. I had to intentionally look, closely look, at my face. It’s like I was thinking “wait a minute, who is that? Is that me?”.

So many things have changed lately. My status, my zip code, my life style, my eating habits, even my phone numbers, which I still get mixed up. I was reading in Wendy’s blog how for her, it takes at least 3 months to get used to a new place being home. I don’t know about that. I think I sometimes get used to places quicker than that, while others it seems to drag forever. When I moved from Caracas to NYC the first time, it took me a few hours to get over the “I’m sad, I miss home” and into the “this place totally rocks! Home? What home?” mode, which then sustained itself for 3 years straight. But when I moved from NYC back to Caracas it took me close to a year to be able to feel at home again.

I don’t particularly like change. Especially not when it’s imposed on me. I totally empathized with Sophie when she stated, well, actually yelled out, “I don’t like change! Why do things have to change?” When we don’t decide, when things just happen and we don’t get a say, it’s miserable. At least it can be, and for me, it usually is.

I decided this mega change. I planned for it. I worked hard for it. It didn’t happen over night, it took time, it took effort, and I was ready and expecting it when it finally came. It’s not miserable. It’s pretty darn great most days. But some days, some weeks like this one, I feel a little off kilt. I feel like I don’t recognize myself, because I don’t recognize my life. I don’t feel at home. I feel like right now I have no home.

Three months? I sure hope so, because that would mean I have one down and only two more to go. But, me? Recognizing myself in the mirror? I hope that happens tomorrow when I wash my face again. Because looking at once’s face and not recognizing it, it’s kind of freaky, and freaky is something I definitely don’t do well, even worse than change.


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