Thursday, February 24, 2011
Every so often I look at myself in the mirror and I don't recognize the girl staring back. You know, I recognize myself. I know it's me standing there. But there's a little bit of me that sees my face as a strangers face.
It's a very strange and curious feeling, and when it happens I try to hang onto the moment as long as possible so that I can try to see myself as others see me. But it is a fleeting sensation and seldom lasts very long.
A friend once told me that it is a phenomenon called moryfolk. I really wanted to get to the bottom of the whole thing so I called the radio show called "A Way With Words" and I asked them if they knew of this word, moryfolk. Well, I asked their answering machine. I have actually called them three times and they have never returned my call. I think it is because they don't know the answer. Sugar Daddy thinks it's because it just isn't that interesting.
I have Googled the crap out of the word, trying all different spellings and such and I got nothin'.
But here's what I do know: (C.S. Lewis said it perfectly.) You don't have a soul. You are a soul. You have a body.
I know I am not my body. Every time I look in the mirror and see a strange girl staring back, I know this to be true.
I am in here. In this body. Sometimes I wish I had another body, but mostly, I'm just happy that mine is healthy and strong.
Every so often, Birdie will give me a look and all I can see is her birth mother. A roll of the eyes or a lazy smile. And at these moments I get the same strange feeling as when I don't recognize myself.
And I've come to realize something wonderful.
When I look at my children, I see their souls. I see them for who they really are.
My children have beautiful healthy bodies. I sincerely wish I could lay claim to Birdie's almond eyes and Frankie's button nose. Alas, those good genes were a gift from another beautiful girl. I would like to point out, however, that The Boy got my childhood sprinkling of freckles across his nose, which makes him uber cute and irresistible.
No one would argue, (as least not to my face) that my kids aren't gorgeous.
I love their little bodies. But their souls, well, they take my breath away.