1.11.10 – Aging Photographs

I hate having my picture taken and always have. The irony is I worked for a long time in a rather public position at non-profits and had to attend events, where I inevitably had my picture taken. I also was responsible at the last place I worked at for a great deal of communication efforts, which caused me to utilize an editor/photographer/project coordinator (Howard Wells, for those who know him. He should get photo credit for most of the shots in my movie today, except for the first and last. I do have a beguiling photo I took of him wearing a tiara as payback. Anyone interested in seeing, please contact me), who always had at least one camera on his person and was always taking pictures whether the moment required it or not.

I would be frequently given these photos, the worst of which would immediately be pitched. Others I’d grimace at and then file away. While dealing with the never-ending clutter in my home this weekend, I found a stack of these photos and was a bit jolted. I don’t have personal photos scattered around my home, and certainly not of me, so it was so strange seeing myself over the years.

Recently I’ve been reconnecting with people I hadn’t seen in some time and did notice on more than one occasion the person not immediately recognizing me. My hair is longer and much lighter (see the 12.8.09 blog entry). I told one friend from college, who I hadn’t seen in years, that I was “blondish” as a way to help him find me at the coffee shop that we were meeting at, although shortly after that I saw myself in some photos from a Thanksgiving dinner party and was surprised as I hadn’t noticed I’d gone beyond being “blondish” to blonde. Peroxide can be addictive.

I know all of these photos are of me, but it’s as though they are actually someone else, which, I suppose in a way, they are. It takes photographs and a distance of time to really start seeing yourself and even seeing people in your family in yourself that you hadn’t noticed before.