Today, after waking up and having a bagel and cream cheese, I sat down at my desk and began searching around on various, insignificant, time-consuming websites. I happened to stumble upon Facebook, a website that I truly abhor but that occasionally peaks my interest when I see a new “friend” has joined or possibly added new photos. Typically, venturing into other people’s internet lives can lead to a depression of sorts. They always portray themselves in the most exciting situations, with the most glamorous of cohorts. They are in love, or laughing or having fun or tanned, and for some reason this both frustrates and depresses me, causing me to compare lives and success stories and futures. But today was different. Today I looked at my own profile (one I have scrolled through frequently, criticizing certain photos of myself, wishing others were better) but today I stopped on a particular picture. It was a photo of me and my five-year-old niece. She looked like an angel, perfect in every possible way, as she always does. But as I looked at myself in that photograph, something clicked. For the first time I think I really saw myself. I wasn’t forcing a smile that was too harsh or too fake. I wasn’t worried about the angle of my face or the possibility of too much chin or not enough eyes. I was just happy and content holding her close to me, protecting her. I don’t look like a girl trying to be younger, cooler, happier, better. I look like a woman, confident in herself and aware of the world around her. Aware of all the bad, horrible, unfortunate things, but also confident in the good that is out there too. The blessings, the wonders, the amazement, the memories that form every single day of our lives. I wasn’t trying to be someone I’m not, I was just me and it was perfect.
