Mirror mirror on the wall...

I've recently made friends with my blow-dryer and have been wearing my hair out as opposed to shoved on top of my head in some vague attempt to keep it from strangling me in the windy weather or attaching itself to innocent men in dark suits who surround me on the way to work. Walking past a dappled, misty mirror, the old fashioned type from French bistros that make you feel straight out of a movie, I caught a glimpse of myself, or more surprisingly, my mother. Long flowing hair, 70's style high powder blue jeans - I was a dead ringer. And whilst i adore and admire my mother i don’t know if I’m ready to be her yet.

Viewing myself as a sliver of time made me curious about how we really see ourselves. Is it in crisp mirrors that reflect in the harsh light of a public toilet all our misdemeanors, our imperfections and our faults, or mirrors that reflect only kind and good or perhaps in others that somehow seem to make even the disfigured and discoloured aspects of ourselves misleadingly glow with importance and delight? In all probability, it’s all of the above that show us in different aspects of our life, at different times and all at once.
 
Perhaps the mirrors that we hold up to ourselves are not really mirrors that reflect us at all, perhaps they reflect others views of us. If someone tells you your cheeks are rosy today, don't they seem to glow? Or if another says that they like your 'grungy jeans' - don't your favourite formal jeans start looking grey around the edges. Surely, compliments and criticisms contribute to the reflections we see of ourselves each day. And if that's the case could there be nothing more important than finding someone who's eyes shine with the most magical view of you? Since we look darkly enough at ourselves, perhaps its would be nice to gaze into the inky pools of delight to see a more brilliant version. I certainly have a very shiny view of a new player I've been seeing - Mr. Whiskey, I met him through my bff a while ago but noticed him on the weekend when he hosted a dinner party for a wonderful girl visiting from Paris.  
 
It does beg the question; do we really love people solely because of themselves?
 
I'm going to go out on a limb and say, I don't think so, I'd rather hazard a guess that loving is perhaps something more selfish. We don’t love someone because of their perfections, we love someone because of the perfect reflections they show us of ourselves.