Best Keep a Well-Worn Mug

I grabbed the teacup with intentions of sipping some coffee, for a change, from the lonely family heirloom. It had sat collecting dust in the hutch for as long as I could remember. In fact, I couldn’t recall a single person ever having used it in this house.

The thin porcelain cup felt cold and smooth as I carefully held it in my hands. When I placed it onto the countertop, the weightless little cup tippled slightly and began to roll. I quickly uprighted the cup and pushed it as far as possible from me and the edge of the counter, then decided instead to grab my everyday coffee mug from the dishwasher. As lovely as the old teacup was, I couldn’t imagine trying to enjoy my coffee while preoccupied by a thing so delicate.

I poured hot coffee into my mug and sat down on the couch to watch a show. The main female character is a well-known Australian actress, recognized for her flawless complexion and curly hair, older than me but of no age in particular. I discover immediately upon watching, that like many other celebrities, Ms. Kidman has had extensive work done to her face. The male counterpart is played by Hugh Grant. His face, on the other hand, is distinctively weathered and indicative of his age. Both actors remain fairly attractive, nonetheless.

As I watch the show, I find myself having to continually refocus on the storyline because I’m fixated on her face. There is something amiss, but I can’t put my finger on it exactly. My ears and eyes pay earnest attention to the episode while my mind unwittingly tries to resolve the discrepancies in her face every time she’s on the screen. And while I’d love nothing more than to get lost in her character, her repositioned cheeks and oddly pursed lips have stolen the show.

Meanwhile, not a thing about the aged face of the actor who plays her husband peaks my attention. Taking-in his character is effortless and natural, and I question nothing when beholding the honest slope of his cheekbones or the deep lines that appear around his eyes and repeatedly within his cheeks when he smiles. Not a shred of character could be sullied with a seasoned face like that.

After the episode, I consider just how welcoming a good set of crow’s feet can be. I have found such comfort in the smile lines and creases of mature faces, for they promise an authenticity that words cannot. They speak to a life of experience, suffering, laughter and grit, and the heart instantly knows that wisdom resides behind such faces.

The lines do not lie, they say, unequivocally, “I have lived”. Words on paper can say this too. Spoken words can tell this, lyrics can sing it. But the face conveys truest, that life has been endured, more than any words ever could.

To remove from the face that beautiful evidence of life, is to deny oneself of fully engaging with the world. The ability to effortlessly invite the trust of others is a gift given by life. Conversely, to erase the lines and the creases, the hollows, the thinning —that golden testimony to having lived— will only serve to disconcert a world who inherently wants to relate. Too many nips, fillers, lifts and distortions elicit confusion and incredulity, for they scream “this person is uncomfortable with herself”, and the injured credibility will ever draw attention to the lies of the face, not the truth behind it.

I look down into my empty coffee mug and appreciate its humble appearance. It no longer shines like the teacup. It has stains on the inside, a couple of chips on the handle, and hundreds of tiny lines at the bottom from my spoon. It’s old, and it’s worn, but it’s the mug I want to drink from every day. It’s my favorite damn mug.
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