About ten months ago, I received a new mirror. I hadn't exactly planned on getting this mirror, so it almost came to me as a surprise. Oddly enough, the packaging didn't say "Handle with care," but I decided I would anyway, just to be safe. In my excitement, I brought it into my living room. I spent a while trying to figure out just the right spot to put my new mirror, and I eventually settled on a spot near the center of my living room. It was next to a portrait of my family and friends and the spot where I stood to practice my horn. Also cluttered around the living room were various ribbons and medals from swimming, trophies from soccer, and other things that meant a great deal to me. Maybe my first mistake was valuing the mirror so much from the start.
I would spend more and more time looking into the mirror every day, becoming more entranced each time. But I wasn't looking at my reflection. The mirror was spotless; it had no flaws, and when I looked into it, it gave me more than just an image. Everything that I put into that mirror, it reflected back. If I looked sadly into the mirror, it would be just as sad and sympathize with me. If I was happy, it would celebrate with me. The image gave me more than just light waves, I could feel that it was also reflecting the emotions that I was putting into it. The mirror image and I were complete equals.
I did my best to take care of the mirror. I spent a lot of time making sure it was safe and clean. But as time passed, I noticed that little smudges were appearing on the mirror. Not trying to worry too much, I would quickly clean the mirror and once again see the flawless image it had always shown me. After those periods, I could see that the mirror was reflecting everything that I put in it and that we were equals again.
Time kept passing, though, and soon smudges became cracks in the mirror. Dust accumulated on the surface, and the mirror's image seemed dull. I tried to keep the cracks from expanding and spreading as I brushed the dust and smudges off, knowing that if the cracks got too big, the mirror would be ruined. I would never be able to see what I had once seen in the mirror.
But time passed on relentlessly, and the smudges and scratches were harder to wipe clean. I realized that the mirror image and I were no longer equal. The smudges between us kept it from reflecting all that it could. The mirror no longer gave back what I was putting into it.
Still, what it reflected back to me was beautiful, and I cherished it. But how long could I last knowing that I was putting more into the mirror than I was getting out?
After a long trip I had taken, I noticed that the mirror was in particularly bad shape. Cracks had spread, dust had settled, and smudges had stained. The mirror looked neglected. Was this my fault? What could I have done to try to keep the mirror in better condition? How can I fix this? All of these questions circled my head after I discovered the mirror's condition. Maybe a better question would have been "Should I fix this?" or "Can this mirror even be recovered?"
Now, in the present, I take care walking into my living room. I watch my steps, sometimes carefully, other times reluctantly. The mirror sits there, and if I look at it too long, I swear I can see it quivering- almost as if it's looking for a reason to shatter. I could pour myself into the mirror and barely make anything out. So why bother?
Because I'm unreasonably faithful that somehow I can fix this, and that one day I'll be able to see the beautiful, deep image once again.
Because I'm scared that I'll never find another mirror that can so accurately reflect all that I put in to it again.
Because I'm afraid that I'll miss it as soon as it's gone.
Because this mirror is a huge part of my life now, and without it, I lose part of myself.
No matter how hard I try, I can't come to a decision. I watch the mirror getting worse day after day, and that is worse than both outcomes of getting rid of the mirror and trying to fix it. There is nothing more tragic than watching something so beautiful deteriorate before your own eyes. I can feel part of myself dying along with it.
I'm scared that one day soon I'll take the mirror and smash it to the ground in a rage of confusion, sending shards of glass everywhere. I'm afraid that I'll look among the wreckage of what once was and weep. Maybe what troubles me the most is that I can already tell what it will feel like. Am I that close to doing it?
But if worse comes to worst, and despite all of my fears, I hope that I will be able to stand among the mess and pick up the prettiest, purest shard of the mirror and keep it with me always.
