As of 6.10.2026, I am 80 years, 8 months old. I can’t seem to stop myself from keeping track of how old I am in this monthly manner. It’s like I’m once again tracking my developmental skills. We all, if lucky, face the challenges of aging. As it turns out, some of them are pretty embarrassing.
After getting up from the lunch table today, I intended to glide quickly past the full length mirror on my way to the bedroom for a quick nap, in this way avoiding checking my posture for the three-hundredth time that day.
I’d been wearing a weighted posture enhancer during lunch, and this made me tired enough that I was looking forward to my nap. But as I glided towards my bed, something caught my eye, and it wasn’t my posture.
I stopped smack-dab in front of the looking glass. There were spots on my sparkling white t-shirt that were clear enough to see out of the corner of my eye.
Within a few seconds, I observed two opposing reactions to this mirror image. Thankfully, the first was one I’ve worked long and hard to cultivate, and this is to accept myself as the frail human being I am when seeing my shortcomings and grin.
I used to work as a docent at the Des Moines Art Center, and I’m sure this helped me notice that five of the seven spots, created from red wine braised roast beef, were artistically arranged like an abstract painting on the blank canvas of my t-shirt. I didn’t chastise myself, even when I remembered that I’d forgotten to put on the apron I started wearing to the table recently, after noticing a tendency to spill on myself.
The second reaction came after the grin turned upside down and I began frowning in disbelief, now horrified at what I saw: seven quarter-sized spots on a shirt that had been fresh just this morning.
It wasn’t just the spots, which a moment prior I had admired as artistic, it was that I had no idea I’d been so sloppy. I had eaten my lunch with gusto—commenting multiple times to my lunch partner how delicious the dish was.
Writing about this moment, hours later, it occurs to me that maybe I just feel happy that I was enjoying my meal so thoroughly, while simultaneously making unintentional art? But not noticing how sloppy I’d been still stings a bit.
IMAGE: Real art witnessing my Tai Chi Chih practice.
