The older I get, the more difficulty I have in recognizing myself. After all, I am looking from the inside out and what I see is through the distortion of the mirror, or the camera lens, or wishes and criticisms.
In case you’re wondering, I do not suffer from Prosopagnosia, aka facial blindness. In fact, I have very good facial recognition, annoying my husband with easy identification of child actors now grown, or long ago neighbors passed on the street.
But I’m quite certain that if you put my isolated features in a line-up, I would have difficulty selecting which ones belong to me. Are those my tiny eyes? My thin lips? Even a cluster of features in their rightful order don’t always coalesce into an understandable whole. Like looking up at the night sky and being able to see clearly only those stars at the periphery of your vision. The ones in direct view are invisible.