Comparisons are odious, I tell myself in the mirror, keeping the lights dim, keeping my face angled in such a way that I can pretend to remain in denial about the disappearing act my chin and jawline have been doing in recent years, so that I can ignore my drooping eyelids, so I can convince myself that my features are as symmetrical as they once were. “Can I compare with myself?” I wonder, as I peruse photographs from twenty years ago. “Greater than, less than, equal to?” I ask as I compare sets of fractions with my younger son. I am more present in myself than I was then, both stronger and softer; more grateful for life and health; more aware of everything that is beautiful and worth tending. In headstand, I can trust myself to push my feet off the wall. My balancing point is wider and more stable than I knew.

From 100 Words: The Beauty of Brevity. Word prompt: “comparison.”