Reflections of Change

Gray Hairs, Wrinkles, and Fatherhood

As I stood before the mirror this morning, the reflection staring back at me was a poignant reminder of the march of time. At 39, I see the first hints of gray hair, etching their silvery threads through what once was a canvas of youth. Subtle lines and wrinkles trace the contours of my face, each a testament to the stories of laughter, worry, and life etched into my skin.

After I took a deep breath, the reflection showed a curious little boy, forever wondering what the world would bring.

Parts of me embrace this feeling, while others resist. I crave stability, yet deep inside, I know that change is the only constant in life. It’s the catalyst for growth, a path to a better life. But lately, it feels as if the last four years have been an unending winter, or I’ve been so entangled in my thoughts that I’ve overlooked the beauty of the changing seasons.

I often journal whether faith in a higher power carries us through challenging times or if it’s the natural ebb and flow of life, gradually and imperceptibly changing until one day, life offers us a not-so-gentle nudge to surrender to its ever-shifting-currents.

The most exciting thing I get to be part of in that reflective surface is my daughter's growth. No longer the little girl who clung to my…