On Getting Old: This Is What I Really Look Like

I looked at the photo in horror: am I really that old? Later, the answer came: yes, I am. And that’s okay.

In January I went to a special job fair for moms who are trying to get back to work after off-ramping themselves to take care of their children. I attended Momfair both because I knew it would be full of good stories – the people and businesses would be interesting and fun to meet, for sure – and also because it’s finally happening to me now. My kids will be in 4th and 6th grade next year, and the money is running out. I need to get back to work.

I don’t know how that will look. To be near the children, I would prefer a work at home job like I’ve been doing all along, but something more consistent than freelancing, or maybe more consistent freelancing? I toy with the possibility of going back into television, a medium I still love, that loves me back if I treat it right. Does watching House Hunters every night as I fall asleep sound like I treat it right? I see en suites and kitchen gut jobs in my dreams. I think so.

With “someday” growing closer, I headed to Momfair with a little bit of detached curiosity. I was happy to run into several people I already knew, and I had a great party date in Jen (whose blog is The Real Mom of SFV). We divided and worked the room. But first we hit the Headshot Truck.

At this event, their setup was all in the conference center, but normally the Headshot Truck is like a food truck but with a photo studio inside. They tool around Los Angeles, hired by companies and events to provide professional photography on site. Their photo studio at Momfair was there for the women to get updated headshots taken right then and there, that we could purchase and use in our LinkedIn profiles and social media channels, all of which can be important in a current job search.

Jen and I were up first. Jen is delightful and super camera-friendly. She struck the poses and I saw how it was done. I was next.

What I couldn’t see as I watched her was the enormous preview screen that faces the person being photographed. Think of the biggest monitor you’ve ever seen in the Apple store, turn it vertically, and display a high-resolution image of your own face, seconds after the photo is taken. That’s what happened.

And I was horrified.

The photographer was lovely. I told him that I’m writing a book, and that I would like a photo that says “serious writer” and also that since it rained that morning I wasn’t too excited about my hair. He turned me and posed me and shot until he felt he got it just right. But after the first frame appeared in the monitor, I lost my appetite for the project.

When that first giant image of my face popped up, all I could see were wrinkles. Not just the cute laugh lines around my eyes that I imagined I had, but serious, deep, fissures that spider through my face, betraying me to the world.

On the inside, I still feel like I’m 25 and ready to take on the world. I still think of myself as looking that way. Freckled, with glasses and long brown hair. I forget about what the rest of you see. That big, wrinkly face that faced me? It made my stomach sink.

The shoot was finally over – it had only lasted minutes, but it felt like so much longer – and I managed to forget about it for the rest of the day. I learned some new things (you should put keywords that describe your dream job into your LinkedIn bio). I got a sense of what the job market is like (awesome if you’re a programmer, not so much if you’re anything else). I met some new people. And I went home tired and happy and optimistic about my near future.

But I did hold on to that photo experience. I thought about it every day, telling myself to accept it. This is my life. I’m 44 years old, and I look like it. And that’s okay. And honestly, even though I do still picture myself as that energetic 25-year-old, the truth is that most of the time, I feel every day of my 44+ years, sinking into my bones, dragging me down for a nap.

Why not embrace the fact that I look like who I am?

Ever since I had laser eye surgery in 2012, I’ve been much more aware of the lines on my face, the way my eyelids are sagging, the deepening grooves between my nose and the corners of my mouth.

This is what life has wrought. This is what the children, the romances, the aggravating arguments with people over PTA matters, money worries, lack of sunscreen, laughter, love, heartbreak, kittens, and puppies, red wine, and coffee have done to my hair, my face, my teeth, my eyes.

I’m a 44 year old person who has lived this life, and it shows.

I am aware that my age might make me less obviously the right choice for certain jobs. But why hide it? If hiring managers are looking at social media profiles, and a photo is required on a LinkedIn page, people are going to see what I look like no matter what. They might as well see the real thing.

That’s only the first hurdle, the skin-deep part. My confidence in the skills I’ll be bringing back to the workplace after focusing on my children for the past several years – that’s the core of the thing. Still, I know first impressions are important.

Two weeks after that photo shoot, the proofs came out, delivered by email. I dreaded seeing mine, but my hand moved the mouse to the link and clicked before I could get up and walk away from the computer. I steeled myself for the experience of facing my face, professionally done, in HD.

And here is what I saw:

Talk about anticlimax. It’s not so bad, is it? It’s not bad at all.

Looking at the photo objectively, I know I’m not more wrinkled than someone my age is expected to be. But also, I came a long way toward facing reality – letting go of the 25-year-old and accepting who I see in the mirror. Somewhere in the two weeks between the photo shoot and receiving the proofs, I had met myself in the middle.

So this is what I really look like on the outside. I’m kind of proud of it. It would be weird if I still looked like I did 20 years ago. Plus, I know who I am on the inside. Yes, I’m still that young girl, that energetic woman, this often-tired mother.

In ten years, I’ll read this post and I will laugh and laugh, as I’m sure my older friends and family are doing right now. But for now, I’m gathering my skills, my confidence – and my headshot – and forging back out into the world. Wish me luck.

Special thanks to Momfair and The Headshot Truck, who retouched the raw proof and made me this really nice headshot:

Kim Tracy Prince, Serious Writer