I looked in the mirror the other day

I didn't know what I saw. There I was, and yet, there I wasn't. It was a person who resembled the man I would eventually look like with a few years of age and a haircut, but there he was, staring right back at me with the very same blue eyes I was using to stare at him. He was older than I expected, finally looking his age rather than lagging a few years behind, with a trimmed beard that had no bald patches, a hair cut, and a few more creases on the forehead.
I remember how, at the beginning of college, my beard couldn't even come in full. My hair was long and unbridled and sat on the head of someone with a face of an incompetent cherub. Now...
Was this really how I looked to other people? Old? I feel, I felt young, vital, excited about comic books and writing and science fiction, and this person, this elder me who had absolutely no right to abscond with my youth, was supposed to represent that. When I looked at him, I didn't see me. Maybe this is normal, given that we all age and change how we look. I recently read a story about someone's grandfather, who said that aging is a lot like staying in the shower too long: the water starts out hot and feels great, but as time goes on, it cools and becomes more uncomfortable. Some people leave the shower, some stay, but in the end, we all shower together. (Just don't use my body wash.)
In 10 years, will I look once more in the mirror and remark upon how much better I looked at 24? And then in 20 years, will I say the same for 34?