Lessons from Somewhere: September 2014

It all started on the train ride home. I was in a fitful mood, that awful combination of exhausted-impatience. About 15 minutes into the ride, a man called out to me. Now, in NYC, when someone is saying, “Ma’am, ma’am,” over and over again on the train, it’s ignored. This may sound rude, but it’s just our culture.

Then a woman reached over and poked me. As you can imagine, I did not appreciate being poked by a complete stranger; however, I looked up from my book and pulled out my earbud.

The man reached over and handed me a sheet of white paper. When I looked at it, I understood why he was trying to get my attention–he’d sketched me.

My annoyance heightened after looking at the portrait. I thanked him (as any Southern girl would), but I didn’t really study the drawing because I found looking at myself on paper uncomfortable. Instead, I tucked it neatly into my bag and thought nothing more of it.

A week or so later, I was drinking wine with a dear friend of mine who would be moving back to Florida in a few days. It felt like our last supper, if you will, and we were talking through some intense things.

At one point, she started to tear up. She said something to this effect: I wish you could see how loved you are. I could weep right now, because you are so special and you don’t even know it.

This conversation got me thinking about that drawing. It’s amazing how other people can and do see us so differently than we see ourselves. I know this is one reason why I didn’t want to even look at the sketch. I was drawn through a stranger’s eyes, and he saw something that startled me.

Feeling charged by liquid courage, I went home and forced myself to study the drawing. I really looked hard and saw a different kind of me:

I wasn’t a mess. My face wasn’t overly round and my cheeks weren’t too chubby. My eyes weren’t so small. Nor was my nose too pronounced, but proportionate to the rest of my face. My forehead wasn’t overly broad and I didn’t look too serious.

It was truly difficult to look at this drawing, because all I see when I look in the mirror is a girl who doesn’t have it together. I never feel thin, pretty, smart or interesting enough. There’s also a major lack of confidence. I say, “I think…” or “I can’t…” more than “I will…” or “I can…”

I do not want to be this kind of person, the sort that rips herself apart when she fails; who’s always on a diet and can never enjoy a cookie. Someone who’s working towards making herself into something she’s not. It’s a painful lifestyle, a half sort of life.

Is it really possible to fake self-love? To pull yourself together and push forward as though you actually do believe in yourself?

I’m not sure. But I did hang that drawing on my wall, so I have to look at it everyday. A reminder that now is my chance to try and see myself.

 

 

 

 

 

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