Not me, I thought, but who better than me to tell the elusive truth?
“When you look at your face in the mirror, what do you see in it that you most like and what do you see in it that you most deplore?” This is the second question Frederick Buechner suggests Christians ask during Lent as they attempt to discover “what it means to be themselves.” For me it is only slightly less powerful than the first question he poses about betting on God’s existence.
Christian or non-Christian, regular mirror-checks, however disheartening, inflating, or truth-revealing are good for our souls. That said, my initial response to reading his Lenten piece, this question in particular, met with the disavowal: There’s nothing in this mirror image that I either most like or most deplore!
Check it out, I thought, just in case, and with coffee in hand that’s what I did one early morning two weeks into Lent. Once the bathroom lights were on and the door closed, I faced the mirror. Beetlejuice, the Vermont version, glowered at me from the other side of the wash basin—a scary, disheveled mess! Two sips of coffee didn’t stifle the keening howl I felt when the ghoulish looking creature with sprouts of unruly grey morning hair and sleep-encrusted eyes stared back at me. The a.m. stubble would be fashionable, masculine even, if it weren’t for the fact that hair follicles are scarce and hard to find on my right cheek. The symmetrical wrinkles, perhaps badges of successful aging, looked anything but that in the image facing me. They told a story I’d like to pretend wasn’t mine—a map of “bad-boy” habits come home to roost.
Time to refill my cup with steaming coffee, and my soul with cold, calculated denial, the latter a tempting choice when confronted with discomforting truths.
And then, spurred on by a surprising dose of early morning courage, I looked in the mirror again, but closer and with scrutiny this time, taking in the reflection behind the messy finger smudge marks, dried water droplets from careless brushing and washing, and the streaks left when slapdash efforts to clean the surface were just that—hurried and slipshod. Digging further and peering even deeper into the familiar albeit distasteful image, I found what Buechner was eluding to—the most liked and deplored pieces beyond the messy surface.
In that spitting image dwelled a caring listener, a loving friend, and a disciplined pursuer of truth, all woven in and through the mind, heart and soul of a conscientious seeker and reluctant disciple—a tough but gentle soul. There too was the countenance of a prideful man prone to churlish thoughts and self-conceit when life’s path, events and relationships don’t reveal themselves the way I want them to unfold—when the Universe doesn’t conform to my wants and wishes.
Seeing what I needed to see and not what I wanted to see had been met with resistance and then acceptance, acknowledgement of both the deplorable and disheveled me as well as my soulful, caring self—the deplorably unkempt and the embraceable twin.
Looking beyond the well-ordered life I’ve constructed, and with which I’ve been gifted, means exposing and accepting the deplorable along with the “most liked.” Too often I’ve focused on riches, fame, [false] love, youth and my health to define myself. William James dashes that focus when he writes: Riches take wings; fame is a breath, love is a cheat; youth and health and pleasure vanish. The American philosopher and psychologist also believed that the art of being wise is the art of knowing what to overlook.
However, we cannot overlook what we don’t know is there because we haven’t taken the time to search, and so we look in the mirror to find it, or life events force us to do so.
When you look at your face in the mirror, Buechner asks, what do you see in it that you most like and what do you see in it that you most deplore?
by 
I have a friend in his 80s who has a very flattering small mirror next to his front door. He told me it’s the only mirror he looks at and he looks at it just as he leaves the house. I like that.
Jo Anne,
What a great idea. I too have one by the front door, but the one I need to check-out is the one by the back door, the access to and from the house I never use.
Thanks for reading and commenting,
Roger
I love the way you write, my friend. I love the way you process and assimilate your life experiences, and then how you artfully repurpose them to provoke thought, celebrate the potholes, lovely meadows, speed bumps, detours and twists and turns of your life’s journey. You are, indeed, a good listener, and a master with words in my humble opinion. Blessings from the Southwest.
Anne,
Thank you for reading this piece and for your encouraging/supportive comments. Repurposing often deepens the potholes, increases reckless speeding over the bumps, and brings suffocating anxiety–and then I step back, breathe in, allowing the lovely meadow it’s rightful place–your words, and those of others, open that door.
Thank you,
Roger
When I look in the mirror, especially if I am wearing my glasses, I sometimes say, “Hello Mom”.
The fact that I can say that is proof that you are a a good listener and a caring soul. What I liked least were the fine lines forming, however I have decided to take the advice of a dear friend and embrace my wrinkles. They give me character right?
Carmen,
Thank you for reading, commenting, and your kind words. Without glasses I cannot see what I want to embrace. With glasses I see them too clearly and want to run.
Roger
Most of the time when I look in the mirror, I am simply checking my superficial self to see if I look acceptable for going out in public, dressed appropriately for the situations and people I expect to encounter. However, my spiritual and meditative readings of the past few years have encouraged me, as your piece also nudges me to do, to attempt to look more deeply into my own eyes in order to see my true inner being, my soul, more clearly. I find that difficult to do, to sustain such intimate contact with myself. Nonetheless, I occasionally find the courage and capacity to face myself with honesty and acceptance of my flaws and weaknesses, as well as my gifts and strengths. I appreciate your Lenten musings to help stimulate such soul-searching self reflection and I love how you punctuate your deeper thoughts and questions with humor such as your seeing the Vermont version of Beetlejuice in your mirror on this particular morning you describe. Write on, mon ami, for your own sake and for us, your readers.
Colette,
“Digging deeper” requires patience, courage, and is met with resistance, thereby demanding sustained commitment and arduous work–but with great pay-off. Vermont Beetlejuice has become my friend!
Roger