The mirror is honest about what it sees.
It shows you the cardigan. The shoes. The eyes that may or may not have gotten enough sleep. Mirrors are very good at the present tense.
What the mirror can't show you is the future tense.
It can't show what you're quietly building underneath. It can't show the choices you've been making, morning after morning, in the direction of the woman you're becoming. Almost 60 of those mornings now, if you've been here with me from day one. It can't show the life that is already assembled in the unseen places, waiting for the visible world to catch up.
The mirror is always the last to know. Bless it. It does try.
So when you stand in front of yours this morning, with the light that's too harsh or too soft, with yesterday's smudge in the corner, with the kids yelling somewhere behind you and a clock to beat, look at what's there. Then look slightly past it. The woman you're also seeing is the one the mirror can't quite show you yet.
Tell her what's coming.
I mean it. Out loud, if the house allows it.
PUT ON today's clothes right there in front of the glass, and say one true thing it can't see yet. What's true about you that the mirror has no way of knowing? That's the thing to say.
