When Time Stops Pretending It Was Gentle

The funny thing about aging is that you never actually feel time pass. You feel the things that occupy your consciousness for the most part, instead –– love, frustration, desire, and fatigue. You feel small but important details, like your favorite meals, the way your hair still won't behave in the humidity, and the weight of your favorite jacket on your shoulders. 

Then one day, you open a photo album or an old digital folder. You're instantly given pause. If you were a character in a movie, this is totally the moment where you'd hear that record scratch noise. 

Because a photo does a lot more than just show you what you looked like at a particular point in time. It shows you what you used to be... and it shows you what you no longer are, as well. You may see shades of who you’ve grown into and what you’ve had to let go of to get where you are. You remember the hopes you had in that moment that didn’t quite play out. The joy you didn’t realize you radiated. The pain you masked with a smile you now recognize as a little too careful.

That’s the strange power of still images in action. In a way, they actually collapse time. You go from experiencing subtle, unnoticeable change on a day-to-day basis to staring straight into the unfiltered truth of who you once were. And suddenly, all that change feels immediate. It's sharp, and sometimes even a little cruel.

My mother reminded me of an old photo from my 20s a while ago

It was from when I first got together with my partner 20 years ago, and just the experience of looking at it felt weird. It made me realize that while I reflect on my 20s a lot, I rarely actually see them with total clarity.

But there she was in the picture –– a completely different version of me, even though I would have told you five minutes before that moment that I hadn't changed that much. 

The hair I've always dyed red was five shades darker, because the hair underneath hadn't gone white yet. I hadn't truly noticed it getting lighter over the years because of the dye, but it really had. My skin was smoother, and my eyes were brighter. I definitely wished I were still as "fat" now as I know I thought I was back then. 

But what struck me most wasn’t what was different physically. It was more the emotional differences I knew were there by looking at things like my posture and my facial expression.

There was a kind of unearned certainty in Other Shannon's face. An undamaged expectation that life would be fair, and decent, and good from then on, because that's what the movies tell you is supposed to happen when you're young, smart, and pretty. She was totally confident that some big, beautiful future was not only possible, but inevitable. 

In other words, she hadn't even brushed up against how tough life could be yet. I miss that old certainty sometimes, even though I know now it was built on illusions. But I also felt a little sorry for the girl I used to be, because she didn't know any of what I know.

And some photos come at you from other angles

I’ve seen photos over the years where I just plain didn’t look the way I thought I did at the time. Maybe I looked tired or lost. Sometimes, I looked like I was disappearing into a relationship, a family, a role that didn’t really fit, because I was. I’ve had moments of grief over those pictures — not for the way I looked, but for the fact that I didn’t even know I was grieving at the time. 

I thought I was just living. Going through the motions, yes. But also doing what I thought I was supposed to do.

Most of us don’t age in a straight line, not emotionally and certainly not visually. We shift and loop. We grow and regress. We try things on, take them off again, and sometimes outgrow them altogether. We become harder and softer, sometimes at the same time. A photo just happens to capture one of those versions of who we are (or were). And it’s never the full truth. Just a slice.

People don't realize why they miss the process

Someone in my Quora orbit recently asked why people live in denial of the aging process until something like an old photo snaps them back to reality again. I wrote one of my overly reflective responses that explained why denial isn't the right word.

It’s not that we’re pretending not to age. It’s that we’re too busy living to notice it happening from one day to the next. We’re surviving. We’re focusing on the tasks at hand, the relationships we’re managing, the dreams we’re still chasing. We see ourselves in passing every day, but we rarely truly witness ourselves. Instead, the years go by and leave their fingerprints all over our faces while we're busy making other plans.

Old photos make us witnesses again. And sometimes that’s beautiful. Other times, it’s super jarring –– depressing, even. But usually, the experience falls somewhere in the bittersweet middle. You miss things about who you used to be (or maybe just how you used to look), but you're also reminded of everything you've learned, gained, and become since the day that photo was taken.

Yeah, you're different. But you're also still you in all the ways that matter the most. That's nothing to be ashamed of on any level.

* Another reflection for this month's Feast of the Wandering Pen, a month-long journey into exploring, creating, and becoming.