Why 'Of All Days, Today'? The Squatter in the Mirror and the Desperate Timing of My Body

Of all days, why today...

I felt like I was going to collapse in front of the mirror.

On the right side of my chin, in the most prominent seat imaginable, a bright red squatter had taken up residence.

It was a bit too brazen to be called a 'pimple,' and now that I'm an adult, it fits the somewhat pathetic-sounding name of 'breakout' perfectly.

Today is the day I've been looking forward to reuniting with a friend.

It's a special day I've been waiting for, where a reunion years in the making finally comes true.

Either way, it's at the top of the list of days when I want to be the 'best version of myself' in my life.

Last night, I washed my face carefully and even used a slightly expensive moisturizing mask, thinking I had prepared perfectly.

And yet, as if mocking my intentions, my body cast this 'red spark' into the spotlight.

The 'Over-the-Top Stage Director' Who Appeared on Set

Why does our body target important days with such precision?

If it had the ability to 'read the room,' it would have at least waited until tomorrow.

But this breakout, while it seems to have appeared suddenly today, apparently had been quietly preparing for several days.

The keyword is a substance with a tongue-twisting name: CRH (Corticotropin-Releasing Hormone).

Actually, in our brains (specifically the hypothalamus), there lives an over-the-top stage director.

To him, a 'reunion after several years' or an 'important event' is a 'historic premiere performance' that could be called the culmination of a life.

Sensing that his master is feeling nervous or under pressure, the director tightens his headband backstage and shouts orders with heavy breathing.

'Hey! The master is about to head into the battlefield of a reunion after several years! All sections, protect the master with everything you've got!'

The Overly Enthusiastic Coordination Error Between Brain and Skin

The sebaceous glands (the special effects department) interpret this order to 'protect the master' as 'increase physical defensive power.' This is the mechanism of the brain-skin connection that has been receiving attention lately.

The sebaceous glands, having received a 'defense order' from the director (the brain) called CRH, are fired up.

'Roger that! To protect the master's skin from dryness before meeting a dear friend, I'll pump out the oil!'

And the director shows even more enthusiasm.

'Not enough gunpowder! Make it more dramatic! Flamethrowers!'

Thus, completely independent of the master's consciousness, special effects (excess sebum secretion and inflammation) erupt right in the center of the face.

The aftermath of that explosion is exactly what we stare at in despair: 'that breakout.'

This kind of coordination error is a 'runaway survival instinct' that easily occurs in adults in their 20s to 40s who are under particular stress.

It is a clumsy special effects technician who, trying too hard to support the master's big day, ignites an unrequested 'special effect' right on the protagonist's face.

The feedback that never reaches the director

Naturally, the lead actor (me), upon learning of the backstage chaos, confronts the director in their mind.

'No, I don't need that flamethrower for today's reunion scene! A quiet, elegant spotlight would have been fine!'

However, our common sense does not reach the ears of the director (the brain).

Once the special effects explosion begins, it swallows up the 'careful pre-show preparation' known as the expensive face mask I splurged on the night before, adding a vivid red hue to my chin.

Standing before the mirror, I slather on facial cleanser foam like 'firefighting water.'

But the curtain has already risen on the stage.

We have no choice but to head to the stage of our reunion after several years, carrying the unexpected special effects on our faces.

The body is a clumsy best friend.

In the end, that day's reunion went unexpectedly well, perhaps because the breakout helped me relax.

Maybe the spell of 'I have to be perfect' turned into a sense of resignation—'well, we've known each other a long time'—because of that one red spot.

Facing the mirror, I speak to the director (the brain).

Next time, could you maybe use a spotlight instead of a flamethrower?

Of course, there was no reply.

Perhaps he thinks the bright red explosion on my chin is his 'greatest masterpiece yet' and is busy basking in his own glory backstage.

Even if I try to talk myself into believing it's just clumsy love, every time I stare at that overripe squatter in the mirror, I find myself silently cursing, 'Give me back the money for my cheering screening ticket.'

When the next important day comes around, I might just encounter a new breakout.

But if I think of it as a form of love—however clumsy—that my body is desperately using to 'protect' me, I feel like I might be able to forgive that red squatter just a little bit.

Our daily lives are filled with coincidences like these, which I call 'the body spinning its wheels.'

Whether you find that eerie or a form of salvation is up to you.

At the very least, I know for sure that my director is rooting for me more than anyone else today.

▼ For those who want to gaze at a little more 'wonder'

Yesterday's enemy is today's friend. The brain cannot defeat the profession of 'baker,' and for some reason, it skillfully forgets only our names. It is a strange story like that.

The master's earnest wish to 'at least let me sleep in on my day off' is rudely interrupted by an alarm clock named hormones, which wakes them up with all its might. This is another morning scene where the body's 'thinking it's doing what's best' ends up backfiring.