Mirrors

The Reflections We Mistake for Ourselves

Have you ever stopped to consider that without mirrors, photographs, or reflective surfaces, you would have very little idea what your own face looks like?

Your eyes can see almost everything around you, but they cannot turn around and look at themselves. You can look down and see your hands, arms, legs, and feet. You can reach up and feel your nose, ears, mouth, and the shape of your head. You could look at other people and reasonably assume that you probably look something like them.

But without some form of reflection, you could live your entire life without actually seeing your own face.

I find that fascinating.

We need something outside ourselves to reflect our physical appearance back to us.

I wonder if much of our psychological identity works the same way.

From the time we are very young, we begin looking into other kinds of mirrors.

Our parents are mirrors. Our siblings are mirrors. Teachers, friends, lovers, spouses, children, coworkers, and strangers become mirrors.

We send ourselves out into the world and watch what comes back.

Someone smiles when we enter the room, and we receive one reflection.

Someone seems uninterested in what we’re saying, and we receive another.

Someone tells us we’re intelligent, attractive, funny, difficult, selfish, kind, successful, disappointing, or lovable—and another image appears in the mirror.

Eventually, we begin assembling these thousands of reflections into something we call me.

The Human Sonar System

Sometimes I imagine the mind and ego working a little like a bat using sonar.

A bat sends a signal outward. The signal strikes something and returns. From that returning information, the bat develops an understanding of what surrounds it.

We seem to do something similar psychologically.

We send signals into the world through our appearance, words, accomplishments, relationships, humor, opinions, and behavior. Then we watch carefully to see what comes back.

Did they approve?

Did they invite me?

Did they respect me?

Did they reject me?

Did they choose someone else?

The ego continually gathers this information while attempting to answer one of its most persistent questions:

What does this say about me?

This isn’t necessarily bad. We need feedback. Other people sometimes see things about us that we cannot see ourselves.

The problem begins when we forget that we are looking at reflections.

We begin believing that the reflection is who we are.

When the Mirrors Disagree

This creates an interesting problem.

What happens when the mirrors disagree?

One person thinks I’m wonderful. Another finds me irritating.

One person thinks I’m intelligent. Another thinks I’m foolish.

Someone wants to spend more time with me. Someone else seems to avoid me.

Which reflection is correct?

Perhaps neither is entirely correct.

Every human mirror has its own scratches, curves, lighting, and distortions. People don’t simply see us. They see us through themselves—their histories, expectations, fears, desires, wounds, preferences, and experiences.

And I do exactly the same thing when I look at them.

That doesn’t make the reflections useless.

It simply means I should be careful about confusing them with reality.

Troubled Water

While thinking about this idea, a friend made an observation that took the metaphor one step deeper.

Water can also be a mirror.

When a pond is calm and still, you can lean over it and see a surprisingly accurate reflection of yourself.

But stir the water and try again.

The image becomes distorted.

The more turbulent the water, the more distorted the reflection.

That struck me because I realized how often we look for ourselves in troubled water.

Someone rejects us, and we immediately look into that experience to determine our worth.

Someone criticizes us, and we stare into their opinion, trying to discover who we are.

A relationship ends, and we search through the turbulence for evidence about whether we were lovable enough.

Someone doesn’t return a text, cancels breakfast, chooses someone else, disagrees with us, or simply doesn’t respond the way we hoped—and suddenly the mind and ego are leaning over violently disturbed water asking:

What does this say about me?

Perhaps that is exactly the wrong time to trust the reflection.

Let the Water Become Still

One of the ideas running throughout these writings is the distinction I make between what I call the mind-ego and the soul.

The mind-ego wants to interpret the reflection immediately.

It wants an answer.

I’m important.

I’m unimportant.

They respect me.

They don’t respect me.

I’m loved.

I’m rejected.

I’m right.

They’re wrong.

The soul, as I use the word, doesn’t seem to be in nearly as much of a hurry.

It can wait.

It can observe.

It can allow the emotional water to settle before deciding what anything means.

And something interesting happens when I do that.

The situation may not change.

The other person may not change.

But the reflection does.

I begin seeing less of my fear, defensiveness, and expectation in the water—and perhaps a little more of what is actually there.

Sometimes I even discover that the event I thought said something profound about me really didn’t say very much about me at all.

The Reflection Is Not the Observer

There may be an even deeper question hiding inside this metaphor.

If I am looking at a reflection of myself, who is doing the looking?

My reputation isn’t looking.

My accomplishments aren’t looking.

My failures aren’t looking.

Even the collection of stories I have accumulated about myself isn’t looking.

Something is aware of all of them.

That distinction interests me.

Perhaps much of what I normally call myself is actually a collection of reflections accumulated over a lifetime.

Some flattering.

Some painful.

Some accurate.

Some badly distorted.

And perhaps underneath all those reflections is something quieter—the awareness capable of observing them.

I don’t claim to know exactly what that something is. Throughout these writings, I often call it the soul.

But I am becoming increasingly interested in learning to look from there.

The world will continue providing mirrors.

People will approve of us and disapprove of us. Relationships will begin and end. Success will arrive and disappear. Our bodies will age. Roles will change. People who once knew us may eventually be gone.

The reflections will keep changing.

Maybe wisdom isn’t finding the perfect mirror.

Maybe it is learning not to mistake the reflection for the person looking into it.

And when I become confused about what I am seeing, perhaps the answer isn’t to find another mirror.

Perhaps it is simply to become still.

The stiller the water, the truer the reflection.