What´s going through my head right now #36

"50th Newsletter"

Fifty newsletters.

Fifty times I’ve sorted through my thoughts, distilled my experiences, and recorded my observations. Fifty times I’ve asked myself: What’s on my mind right now? What do I want to share?

And now, at number 50, I look in the mirror and see: time. It hasn’t just left its mark in the texts, but elsewhere as well. Right under my eyes, to be precise.

So: a monologue about the visible and what really matters.

LOOK AT ME!

A MONOLOGUE

Look at me.

Yes, look at me!

There was this day when I looked in the mirror and saw that.

Under my eyes.

Those maggots.

Thick and white.

Or should I call them pupating caterpillars.

Sounds less scary.

As if age had crept under my eyes. Secretly, overnight.

Yes, take a look.

I looked it up—okay, Googled—what you can do about it... as a man.

I pressed on them, applied cucumbers, tortured them with ice packs until snowflakes appeared before my eyes.

I smeared ointments and creams on the maggots, those thick, white caterpillars, and tried all sorts of other things.

I even had the feeling that it had gotten better.

And then this one photo.

This snapshot.

And no, it wasn’t the lighting.

And no, I didn’t sleep poorly.

It was the truth. Right in front of, no, better yet, under my eyes. Age.

And it turns out to be a revelation.

As a renowned choreographer once told us when I was just starting out on my professional dance career:

“You’re staring into the mirror while life passes you by.”

Of course, I could point out that you’re only as old as you feel.

That perhaps my cellular age is more flattering than those bulky monsters under my skin, right beneath my eyes, are trying to tell me.

Fake news!

No, I’m almost 58 years old, heading toward sixty.

And please: Go ahead and call me GRANDPA!

But wait. What does one actually look like “past a certain age”?

It’s really about entirely different values.

Or are we fooling ourselves?

Letting ourselves be deceived by images, norms, expectations?

Yeah, look at me. So what?!

The wrinkles sometimes creep away, hiding in some nook or cranny.

Even if they suddenly reappear—it says nothing about my mood, my feelings, or who I am.

These are externalities to which I don’t attach enough importance.

Because the mirror is not a reflection of my inner state; it doesn’t represent my strength, my visions, or even my desires.

It’s a snapshot. That’s it!

No one knows what the caterpillar will become anyway.

Maybe a silvery, powdery moth...

Yours Sincerely, Jochen