identity crisis

I don't even think about showing my ID at bars or concerts anymore. It's just something that's done when one enters an establishment, along with, in the winter at least, taking off one's mittens and untying one's scarf. I stand there patiently while the man at the door holds up the flashlight, looks at my picture, and then at my face, and then hands the card back to me. A couple weeks ago, the man at the door looked at my picture and my face a couple more times than usual before handing the ID to his colleague and remarking to me, "When did you get this picture taken?" I tried not to sound guilty--because I wasn't. "Umm, I mean, when I was 15 or something." He turns to his friend and says, "Is this her?" They compare my cold, red cheeks and bangs with my childish mug a couple more times before sighing, shaking their heads, and letting me pass.

And again yesterday, when the creative recruiter was completing my tax forms she asks, "When did you get this picture taken?" Shocked, again, this time in my interview best with my hair all done and even a little makeup on, I said as maturely as possible, "That's been happening a lot lately. Maybe it's time to get a new picture taken."

My friends agree; my braces, thick, long wavy hair, and swimmer's tan from back then don't quite mesh with the bright white teeth, short, straight hair with bangs, and pasty white complexion I usually wear today. And I've gotten a bit taller and a bit heavier and my hair perhaps isn't quite as sun kissed. "But it's still me," I insist, as proud of my California ID as I was the day it arrived in the mail, "I haven't changed that much. I don't feel that different."

Unfortunately, the part of me that knows the picture on the ID is of me, the part of me that doesn't feel so different from the person I was at 15, the part of me that remembers the day I had it taken, the day I took my permit test and received that haphazard, stapled stack of papers that signified my learners permit; that part of me doesn't exist in anyone else. It is unequivocally my license and my picture, but who's to say i'm not lying? Who's word reigns? My picture's? Or mine?

So maybe it's time to get a new license. But I don't drive anymore, nor do I feel I've put my roots down far enough in Illinois to warrant getting a license here, and looking like i'm from here next to all my out-of-state friends. But I don't live in California anymore either. Which leads me to the conclusion I've come to many times in the past: continue to assert the picture is mine and deal with it again in 10 months when the license expires anyway. Or, grow out my hair, wear it curly, get braces again, start fake-tanning, and forget all that's happened to me in the past 8 years to make me look like I do now. Or is just that I've aged?