Without making a conscioua choice, I had default chosen an attractive look, but did i want that particular attractive look for myself? And if i were choosing to look as if i were following in her footsteps, would my actions and deeds go with the look, the visual presentation? Was this to be my identity? Aunt lola’s follower?
I had to say no. The thing about choosing aunt lola as a visual role model is that the choice would be a fine choice. Why not? If i chose it, aunt lola’s style and figure keeping lead would be fine to follow if i so chose.
The point of examiining myself came in here. I hadn’t realized that i had made any such choice until i saw the photo and permitted my most objective eyesight to see some connections that I had not seen before.
Now the obvious suffused my whole brain. My hair was red. So was hers. We shared a common familial look, did aunt lola, my mom, their mother (my maternal grandmother) and I.
I had to realize that unless my choice was conscious, i would be abdicating my freedom to become the person i wanated to be;. I would be giving up my independence since i would not be inventing myself, i wouldl bean invention of my aunt or an extension of her or a chip off the block of her.
And did i want that?
Without the fact of aunt lola’s and my resemblance staring me right back from the mirror that the photo was for me, i could havegone on my merry way, never knowing that i had fallen in rather than having chosen to partake of the lovely look of my aunt.
One’s bearty can be shown in many ways. And i thought to myself that, for me, my presentation of myself needed thought, rather than thought’s abdication.
How much, if any, had i been measuring up, fitting in with, my own looks, which looks were those of earthy aunt lola? I didn’t know. To me, such things are important to know.
Fitting my deeds, my actions, my voice, the subjects chosen to think about, talk about, value; everything i did wihin that look i had copied from lola needed to be analyzed, wondered about. They were all suspect. All suspect of being modeled after a branch of my own family that i hadn’t thought about becoming.
So, once again, just as surely as the need to resee and redo a vision of the world comes with maturation, and a wiser recognition of what is what, did i need to adjust my look to my own way of being alive.
Many people go through life without a mission. I had always felt incomplete without one. Did aunt lola have one? Did i hnolw if aunt lola felt a lack of something all her life and define it iin differing ways as she marched along her chosen path?
Did Aunt Lola see her various motivations for doing what she did as somehow pointless without a unifying goal to unifty the various parts of her life. Did she compartmentalize and feel good about that solution?
Would i feel that way by following her tastes in clothes and “doing the most with what she has to work with”?
On my death bed, i want to feel, “That was fun. I can hardly wait to do it again.” Even in hardships and sufferings inevitable, all “the shocks that flesh is heir to,”, i hope to enjoy being alive. I need to live with peace of mind, especially in the stock taking of one’s last hours.
If i had died young, my stock taking would have been disastrous. I wouldn’t have had the peace of mind that is possible after the tumultuous years of youth. Old age is a real eye-opener. Not even middle age can foretell the goodness of old age’s wisdom. Such has been my personal experience so far.