I’ve been going through old pictures recently. Not the kind you print, because it’s been a long time since I’ve done that, but the ones on my computer that I haven’t seen in ages. Photos of ski trips, and hikes through the Costa Rican rainforest. Traveling with Rob on our first trip to London, when I met his family. A yoga trip in Mexico. Martha’s Vineyard right after we got engaged. Our wedding in Central Park. Our honeymoon in Italy.

I remember when I first saw most of those pictures, I thought I didn’t look so great. I picked apart my features, and judged myself in an unflattering light almost every time, but now I’m not sure why. The person I see in those photos is so fast and so active and so happy that I can’t really imagine ever thinking negatively of her. Maybe only time softens our opinions of ourselves.

Rob, Scarlett, Otto and I took holiday card photos in December with a great photographer, and I was still pretty critical of the way I looked. It’s easy to find fault with my appearance now, but I try not to do it. I have a five-year-old listening, and besides, I do like the way I look in some ways. My nails are stronger than ever, because they don’t do dishes or cook, and I certainly can’t get them in my mouth to bite them, no matter how anxious I might be feeling at any given moment. When my hair is clean (once or twice a week) it looks decent. I wear a dress every day, so I can’t be accused of schlubbing around. (But don’t inquire about the undergarments.)

I’m not at my best, there’s no question about it. And that’s often hard for me to deal with, because I expected my 30s to be one of my happiest decades. I’d be more comfortable in my own skin, confident, healthy, looking good. I’m not even sure why I thought that, I guess I just figured things would keep getting better. It seemed to be working for Rob.

My 20-year high school reunion is coming up at the end of September. One of my former classmates created a Facebook page with posts showing Then and Now photos: everyone as seniors juxtaposed with recent photos from Facebook. I’ve always been really down on my senior picture, because I took it before I ever started plucking my eyebrows, and because there is printer ink running down my face in the photo in every single copy of the yearbook. It is not my favorite photo of myself.

But looking at it now is different. I still don’t like it very much, but instead of something disastrous, I just see a 16-year-old kid, which is what I was when the picture was taken. There’s baby fat (that’s what I call it, even though it was from drinking beer), the bushy eyebrows and an awkward smile, as if I didn’t want to appear to be trying too hard. Note to any high schoolers who might be reading this blog: Don’t be afraid to try. You definitely look worse when you’re trying not to try. Trust me.

I’m pretty sure there are no high schoolers reading this blog. But if there are, one other piece of advice is this. If your friend’s parents go away for the weekend and leave you money to buy food, don’t get high and spend all the money on freeze pops, cause that’s only fun for like an hour.

Anyway, then there’s my Now picture, one that was taken last year on Scarlett’s bed. I got out of the wheelchair for that one, and so I look pretty normal. I like the photo. I look happy, and only mildly distracted by the fact that Scarlett was screeching in my ear at the time. She doesn’t pull it together for photos very well at this age. I should tell her about the trying, and about going easy on herself.

I’ll save the freeze pop lesson for another time.

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