DO I RECOGNIZE MYSELF?

Or, if you prefer, do I not recognize myself?
I raise this question today because when I looked in the mirror, I saw someone I didn't recognize. And what is recognizing if not perceiving something or someone as already known. And that someone is none other than me.

Let me explain.

In general, when we look in the mirror, especially women, we tend to look at our faces everywhere to make sure that everything's hunky-dory. Am I wrong to think so?

I would add that women spend a little more time in front of the mirror than men. And rightly so, because they want to look presentable, an important element in their femininity. I don't think we men think about it as much, and that's exactly my case, and the reason why I raised this subject.

I have to say, in my case, I very rarely look at myself in the mirror. Even when I shave, I only look at the beard, concentrating on it without seeing if my ears are still there. This morning was different.

I looked at this man in front of me and asked myself: Is this really me? I couldn't recognize him! He looked different from what I thought he was. I was stunned for a few seconds.  I kept looking at every part of my face, as if to make sure it was really me. Am I dissecting my body and destroying its beauty?

I tried to think of what my face had looked like in the past. Yes, younger and I have to believe it has changed. But to the point where I can't recognize it?
I examine myself to identify myself, to determine that it's really me. Could it be that my memory is failing me? Its function is to prove that an object, in this case my face, has been known before, because it's memory that's in control.

Being a bit of a philosopher, the question arises: Do I still belong to the human race? I know that sometimes life doesn't make sense (I've written so much about it), but it's still worth living. Am I complicating my life?

All this makes me recognize my own inadequacy. I recognize in this a philosophical reflection. I'm going to have to take myself in hand and return to earth. I have to admit the obvious. The man behind the mirror is me, different, but he's still me and I have to accept that. I'm going to admit to myself that I've made a few mistakes, because that's what I'm old enough to do, and I'm going to try to resolve them.

After writing these few lines, I think I'll go back to that famous mirror and see what it still has to say.
I come back and realize what I hadn't quite seen before, namely that I have bags under my eyes. I convince myself that at my age, this is normal.

Finally, I decide right away that I accept what the mirror shows me.