You know, I looked at my face in the mirror this morning, and I

“You know, I looked at my face in the mirror this morning, and I like being old. My face has more content and when I train in the gym now, I am not training to be strong or handsome—just better than I was yesterday. These days the race is just against myself.” So spoke Jean-Claude Van Damme, warrior of the screen and fighter of the body, but here a sage of the spirit. His words, clothed in humility, shine with the light of wisdom that comes not from youth, but from the long road of years. For he has walked through glory and fame, through strength and pride, and at last arrived at the still place where the only true contest is the contest within.

To stand before the mirror is to confront truth. In youth, the mirror is a rival, showing us the flaws we would hide, the imperfections we would master. But in age, the mirror becomes a companion, a record of trials endured, battles fought, and lessons learned. When Van Damme says, “I like being old,” he honors not the wrinkles but the story they tell. Each line upon the face is a sentence of experience, each mark a symbol of survival. It is the transformation from chasing admiration to embracing authenticity.

Once, he trained to be strong and handsome, to meet the standards of others, to win the applause of crowds. This is the way of youth—the hunger for recognition, the drive to be seen. But now, he trains not for the world’s eyes, but for the quiet victory of the soul. His goal is no longer to impress, but to improve. This is a wisdom the ancients cherished: the Stoics spoke of the man who competes not with others, but with his own weaknesses, who finds greatness not in conquest of nations, but in conquest of self.

Consider the story of Marcus Aurelius, emperor of Rome. Surrounded by power, luxury, and war, he might have sought to dominate the world. Yet in his Meditations, he writes of the only true enemy: the self unmastered. He, like Van Damme, turned from the race against others to the race against his own impulses, his own failings. To be “better than I was yesterday” is the highest calling, for it demands no enemy, no audience, only the courage to face oneself anew each dawn.

Van Damme’s words also pierce the illusion of endless competition. The world urges us to race against neighbors, colleagues, rivals—to measure our worth by comparison. But in truth, this endless striving leads only to exhaustion and envy. When he declares that “the race is just against myself,” he offers liberation. For the self-race is honest, unending, and pure. No envy clouds it, no defeat can destroy it, for each small victory is eternal. In this way, age becomes not decline but refinement, the sharpening of the soul upon the whetstone of time.

The lesson is clear: do not fear the passing of years, for they are not thieves, but teachers. To grow old is not to lose strength, but to gain depth. To train, to labor, to live—not for vanity, but for the quiet progress of the self—is to walk the true path of mastery. Each morning, ask not, “Am I better than others?” but rather, “Am I better than I was?” In this question lies freedom, purpose, and peace.

Therefore, children of tomorrow, let this be your practice: when you rise, look into the mirror without shame, and honor the face that gazes back, for it is the map of your journey. When you labor, let it not be for applause, but for growth. When you strive, let it be against the shadow of yesterday, so that today you stand taller. And remember always Van Damme’s wisdom: the only race worth running is the one within, and victory is found not in triumph over others, but in the quiet conquest of self.

So walk boldly into age, into struggle, into each dawn. For the race is yours alone, and each step forward, however small, is the step of a hero.