Wabi-sabi is a thing; specifically, or as specifically as one can be when talking about Japanese philosophy, which is as slippery as unagi, it's centered around the notion that with age and flaws come elegance and uniqueness.
It's the day after your birthday that counts, when you're back to being one among billions. Today: I looked at myself in the mirror, 42 and one day, and damned if I didn't have a Rogue-like gray streak running down the part of my hair. The nail on my left big toe is flawless; the right one looks like a yellowing piece of quartz, cracked and flaking. Yin and yang, cast in keratin.
Posts about one's birthday are the most narcissistic of a narcissistic pastime. I turned 42 yesterday, I ponder the flaws and the cracks and the gray today, I leave it up to the Japanese to figure it all out.
