The Face of Aging

Seeing all that we are, have been, and the stories that our faces contain

I am always fascinated while looking at the painting by Sergi Cadenas that portrays a woman aging . When you slowly walk from one side of this painting to the other, you see the aging process in this woman’s face. The young girl that she was, the woman that she became, the elder that she grew into. Not only is this a brilliant piece of work, but also such a metaphor for how we can begin to see each other more deeply. And ourselves. 

I now, when I look at older people, begin to better see many of the different faces that might have been theirs when they were younger. Perhaps it takes elder eyes to be able to see all that is contained in a face. Maybe I have now grown into those eyes that can see more deeply. A lifetime of experiences, of joy, of pain, of a life lived. 

I look at the face of an older woman and can catch glimpses of the young girl that she was once, the young woman that she grew into, and the now elder keeper of wisdom that I see in front of me. Oh, the stories that she can tell me. I want to hear her stories. I want someone to hear my stories too.

I look at the older gentleman who is a regular at the coffee shop that I frequent. Still a striking figure, I can see the muscles that worked a lifetime, the broad shoulders that carried so much. The face that turned heads. The walk that belies a lifetime of hard work and experience, burdens, and the passage of time. 

When I look in the mirror, it is sometimes a shock to look at the changes that growing older brings. I don’t feel the same age that I see reflected in the image before me. The inside doesn’t seem to age at the same pace as the outside does. 

Walking from one side of life to another, as with the painting, time takes a toll. And invisibility can often come at the end of the walk. 

Yet there is so much to see. So much to hear about. So much to feel about the stories contained in each face, each set of eyes. 

I think that there may, at times, be fear when looking at an elder’s face with its lines, wrinkles, and spots. A knowledge that we will arrive at such a face ourselves, if we are lucky enough to live that long. An awareness that we are looking at a future version of ourselves. A bowing down to the reality of our skin losing its youthful glow and elasticity, our bodies losing their firm curves and tight skin, our eyes losing their clear vision, our ears not hearing as well, our steps becoming more measured and careful.

It’s not easy to face this (no pun intended). Yet it is the truth of our humanity, our life cycle, our present and future. 

Yet another stark reminder of the reality of mortality. The final version of the portrait of who we are, have been, and will become. 

So what can we do with this knowledge about life, about aging, about decline? About wrinkles, sagging skin, and the life cycle ending?

It is what our lives are. Perhaps we can learn how to use this knowledge, these lessons, this vision of our life, to better live each moment along the way. To embrace each prism in our own individual portrait that reflects who we are right then, with the knowledge that more change is coming with each step that we take.

And seeing all the faces, realizing that they are us, can this help teach us about living? Finally taking in the knowledge that beginnings always lead to endings, can we embrace the time between?

Have you read the Zen story about the man traveling across a field who encountered a tiger? 

A man traveling across a field encountered a tiger. He fled, the tiger after him. Coming to a precipice, he caught hold of the root of a wild vine and swung himself down over the edge. The tiger sniffed at him from above. Trembling, the man looked down to where, far below, another tiger was waiting to eat him. Only the vine sustained him. Two mice, one white and one black, little by little started to gnaw away at the vine. The man saw a luscious strawberry near him. Grasping the vine with one hand, he plucked the strawberry with the other. How sweet it tasted!(Translated by Paul Reps (Zen Flesh, Zen Bones, New York: Anchor/Doubleday, 1958, pages 22–23).

What a metaphor for life, yes? We know the end will come. Do we fret about this ? Or do we grab the pleasure and lusciousness that is in front of us and enjoy it while we are able? Do we see and eat the strawberry and the gift of its ripeness and delight? Even sweeter as we know that we are close to the end of our life. 

When our time comes to face those tigers, will we choose to live fully until we must let go? Can we embrace who we were, are, and will become? Can we reach and taste the strawberry of this moment in time? Can we taste its exquisiteness with the knowledge of its ending? Can we embrace now?

So here I am. Looking at this moment in time of my own portrait. Taking a deep breath.

Today I am going to my volunteer shift at the zoo. Observing the elephants. Saying goodbye to one of our elephants, Donna, who is going to be transported to an elephant sanctuary soon so that she can be with other female elephants her age. She recently lost her close elephant friend at the zoo, Lisa, who became old, ill, and was euthanized. Donna, and all of us who work with these majestic creatures, are still deeply in grief. So I will go and spend time with Donna while she is still with us. 

I think I’ll stop at the Farmers Market on the way home. And buy some strawberries.