xtcian

7/17/02 Some may find my

7/17/02

Some may find my habit of recreating pictures to be fairly depressing. After all, not many people look "better" to themselves as they age, unless you happen to have gone through a caterpillar/butterfly-like metamorphosis or lost a ton of weight. The thing about getting into your middle thirties is that you start to take on the physical characteristics that define you as "old" and make you visually unappealing to anyone under 25. There's just something about you that's creepy to them the same way you felt about 35-year-olds when you were their age. I suppose this aversion to age has its roots in primal Darwinian survivorship; you want your mate to be able to stick around for a long time to help raise the kids. It may also be disheartening to learn that a man's "biological relevance" ends at 27 in our species, meaning that there are usually enough healthy males younger than him to make his existence irrelevant, at least procreation-wise.

Having dealt with my biological irrelevancy eight years ago, I'm more interested in the aging process, and not just stuff like how bad my back hurts now. I like watching my friends go through a "nesting phase," trying out a "existential crisis" or two, or even "I'm dating a 20-year old this summer" syndrome. Pictures are one way of looking at us age, and the videotape of the "General College" reunion I described in last night's blog gives some broad strokes to work with.

Basically, everyone looks the same as they did twelve years ago, except now they all look like they've been filled with about six liters of water. Everyone's cheeks, necks and bellies are waterlogged, gurgling from one scene to the next. Notable exceptions are Tessa, who looks about fifty times better now; her best friend Jason, who lost his Roland Orzabal haircut and got buff; and Todd Walker, who went bald but now manages to look even better, like a young Ed Harris (who, incidentally, was my babysitter in the early '70s betchya didn't know that, huh?).

The jury is out on my own changes the last few years, which have been rough on me emotionally. I'd be interested to know if one's mood can affect one's visage in the long term, much like Tessa's grandmother Nonnie has etched deep lines of worry into her forehead from decades of anxiety.

This is me in the fall of 1996, having turned 29:

And this is me a few weeks ago, having turned 35:

Six years between them, and though something is different, it's hard to tell exactly what. Perhaps that little Darwinian push that tells 20-year-olds that better breeders lie elsewhere. Maybe it's the eyes with six years' more information being processed. Maybe it's six liters of water gurgling around. Or maybe I'm just squinting back at 1996, trying to find my relevancy.