My passport is expired.
It’s not just that I’m a procrastinator and disorganized. Weeks ago I picked up the application to renew it. I went right from there to UPS and took a picture. And then I came home, and put the application, picture and old passport on my desk.
My desk is still a mess but I know exactly where the passport stuff is: right on top of the pile. So today I thought I’d get it done, and I took out all the stuff. And then I remembered why it’s still sitting there.
There’s a problem with my passport picture.
Nothing was wrong with the camera. It’s that woman in the picture—she doesn’t look like me. I see myself every single day in the mirror and she looks way older than I do.
I thought I was comfortable about aging. A year ago I had an entire episode when a plastic surgeon had to remove a small skin cancer. I thought I was getting one of those signs from the universe telling me to have a brow lift.
That turned out to be not a sign— just static. And I thought I’ve evolved. I know how lucky I am just to be alive—-and I feel great. So great that how I feel inside (somewhere around age 35) doesn’t match the face in the picture. I’m not ready to wake up and smell the coffee. I’m waiting to wake up one day and identify with the face facing me. But the picture isn’t going to change unless I want to alter my face surgically. Which would make this a very expensive passport—even before I leave the country.