PART VI: TIME PASSAGES
Reflection
how you face looks
The Journey of Your Face Over 60 Years: A Reflection on Change
Abraham Lincoln once said, "There are no bad photos, just the way your face looks sometimes." This simple observation is a reminder of how our faces evolve throughout life—reflecting experiences, emotions, and time itself.
In your 20s, your face is fresh, energetic, and hopeful. It carries a sense of discovery, with youthful resilience shining through. By your 30s, you start to notice subtle shifts—lines begin to emerge, telling stories of laughter, stress, and growth. These aren’t imperfections but signs of a life fully lived.
As you move into your 40s and 50s, your face deepens with wisdom and character. Each wrinkle, crease, and contour carries the weight of memories—some joyous, some sorrowful—but all integral to the person you've become. In your 60s and beyond, your face tells a lifetime of stories. It's a canvas of experience, where beauty lies not in perfection, but in authenticity.
No photo can truly capture the depth of these changes. Rather, each image reflects the transient nature of life and the emotions tied to specific moments. Lincoln's quote reminds us that there is no such thing as a bad photo, only the fleeting expression of a face that, over time, becomes a testament to the life it has led.
Lined up in order, the photos tell a story I’m not sure I ever set out to write.
The first ones are of a baby I don’t remember being. I’m propped up awkwardly, someone else arranging my legs and arms so I look presentable. I’m clean, dressed, and clearly looked after, but I can’t claim any part in it. Those photos belong more to my parents than to me. They were proof they had a child and were doing their best.
Then there are the early childhood shots. Fading colours, dodgy haircuts, hand-me-down clothes. I’m squinting into the sun, often a bit grubby, usually standing slightly off to the side, not quite in the centre of the frame. I recognise the expression more than the place. A mix of curiosity, mild confusion, and just enough stubbornness to hint at what was coming later. The background is as interesting to me now as my face—old cars, basic furniture, the way houses looked before everything got renovated.
School-age photos start to show the push and pull of fitting in and standing apart. There are class photos where I’m one face in a grid, not smiling properly, just doing what everyone else is doing. Then a few odd shots taken on the edges of things—at the train station, outside a school, leaning against a fence. I can see the shift from kid to teenager in my posture and eyes before I would have recognised it at the time. A bit sharper, a bit more guarded.
Teenage and early adult photos are a mixed bag. Some I wouldn’t mind losing, if I’m honest. Bad clothes, bad choices, and me trying to act like I knew what I was doing. But there’s something useful in that too. You can see the trial and error written on my face. Work, travel, relationships, moving around. I can tell which photos were taken during periods I thought I was in control and which ones were taken when I very clearly wasn’t.
As the photos move into later adulthood, things settle a bit. Not calm, exactly, but more grounded. There are more work shots, more photos in communities, more other people in the frame. I look older, obviously, but I also look more like myself, if that makes sense. Less performing, more just being there. The weight goes up and down, the hair changes, but there’s a familiar line to the face that sticks.
Recent photos are the hardest and easiest at the same time. They’re close to how I see myself now, but they also show what I usually avoid in the mirror if I can: age, wear and tear, the body keeping a record. I don’t hate them, though. There’s something honest about seeing the whole run—from baby who knew nothing, to someone who’s carried a fair bit and is still here.
Taken together, the photos are less about highlights and more about continuity. Not every image is flattering, not every stage is comfortable to look at, but all of them are me, in order, doing my best with whatever that particular year had on offer.
a few snaps along the way
I like taking photos. Some turn out well, others not so much, but they all matter. Pictures catch the loose edges of memory while words hold them in place. For me, images and stories belong together; one feels somehow unfinished, a little lonely, when it turns up without the other.
PART I
PART II
PART III
PART IV
PART V
PART VI
