The eye of the beholder

Some days I catch an unexpected  glimpse of my reflection – in a window, for example – and recoil at my hideousness. Other times, I see myself and think “Hmmm – not too shabby “. I’m guessing that it’s actually psychologically impossible to be objective about your own appearance. The lucky thing is that as you get older, you just forget to care. I seem to remember the perpetual self consciousness – thinking about how you look, the dumb things you say, and worrying about how you appear to others – as being one of the more tiresome aspects of being a teenager. So painful, such a pointless waste of time and brainpower. Nowadays I tend to have the opposite problem – I get home at the end of the day to find I haven’t looked in the mirror once, and subsequently discover there’s a giant bogie hanging off the end of my nose; or spinach or other unidentified but colourful piece of food stuck in my teeth. I have other things to worry about these days; like, trying to pretend I know what I’m doing at work. On a good day, I’ll think this is imposter syndrome. On a bad day,  I know it’s because I don’t know what I’m doing and I’m just waiting to be found out.