I’ve never really written publicly. I don’t know if you’ll love me or hate me. I’m pretty sure if I don’t just hit the “publish” button, I’ll wonder why I never tried it. Love it or hate it, it’s out there. I’m out there.
Today I decided I won’t apologize anymore. Yesterday, I might have.
Today, for the eight-thousandth (give or take a few) time, I was meandering around our trendy little downtown area and noted (again) that I was armed to apologize for myself.
I was the one who didn’t have the expertly-highlighted hair (I’ve given up frequent visits to the pricey salon in lieu of other priorities). In fact, my hair hadn’t been washed in a day (or two… or three) and those slightly graying roots weren’t covered by a cute straw sunhat. Instead they were encased in a big, bulky bike helmet (I’m not vain about riding – when it comes to protection, my hair can suffer for it). I’d missed my ‘makeup moment’ (albeit totally simple) this morning (trying to get three kids out the door always seems to take precedence). And in place of a dreamy, gorgeously-crafted Kate Spade handbag, I was carrying everything in an old, grungy Jansport backpack (I’ve had it since high school, no joke, so it’s seen better days). I was the one with the outdated, scratched up shades (who cares, they all block the sun’s harmful rays, no matter what they look like) and I certainly wasn’t in some adorable pair of Tory Burch shoes (who is she anyway? – I live in my tennies so I can burst into a run at any unexpected moment or, God forbid, keep my feet comfortably and safely positioned on bike pedals). My fingernails hadn’t been painted in at least a year-and-a-half (though I did get a pedicure a couple of weeks ago because I had an eight-month old gift certificate burning a hole in my purse grimy backpack).
Yesterday I’d have felt like all eyes were on me – like people were making mental notes about my wardrobe, lack of fashion sense or inept non-existent makeup skills. And I’d have guessed those same people were making internal decisions about whether they should be (or would be, given the opportunity) associated with me and all my geekiness. And for all those people, I might have had a litany of apologies to explain my slightly oily hair or my plain, undressed face and six-year old pullover.*
But today was different. On this bright, crisp October morning, I spontaneously passed a reflective window. I’ve skirted by them hundreds of times before, but this time it totally caught me off guard. And I saw myself as instantaneously as others see me. I was ready to apologize to that person staring back at me for looking so dorky, so unfashionable, so un-Tory Burch (not that I know what she looks like, but I’m pretty sure she’s not wearing a hair-flattening helmet). I saw myself perched on my bike with that big melon case (quickest way to cover grays!) the tattered old sack on my back (take that, Kate) and my very unfashionable tennis shoes (Tory would be ashamed).
And surprisingly, I had a big ol’ grin across my face.
Smiling back at me was not only my own image but also that of my cheerful, free-spirited, fresh-air-intoxicated three-year old buckled safely in his CoPilot seat and flaunting his cool-factor in his own, bulky helmet. (And since he was the one who reminded me to put my skullcap on before our ride, he probably thought I looked pretty cool, too.) And just like (most) every day, he was totally tuned in to all the brilliant God-given things that so many people whiz by without ever taking notice of. We had inspected the flock of birds lined up and all evenly spaced on the warm telephone wire and had admired the amazing colors in the leaves on a tree. We had stopped to marvel at the guy maneuvering a huge, yellow digger that was pushing a mound of gravel like it was a spoonful of green peas. We’d spotted a helicopter hovering nearby and had paused to pet two of the most adorable dogs ever. And I realized that I get to tune into those things, too – every day.
And in a fraction of a second (okay, maybe a minute), I realized I looked pretty damned enviable.
Today I realized that I don’t need to toss apologies out to anyone – not to the lovely, perfectly-coiffed store owner behind the trendy clothes delicately hanging in her store window, nor to the casual, well-dressed (and showered) acquaintance with whom I happened to cross paths during my “I-just-might-have-forgotten-makeup” morning. I also proclaimed to myself that while I might not (maybe not ever) be able to keep up with Kate and Tory and a good number of other girls in my neighborhood, I shouldn’t apologize. Because the ones who matter are those who don’t give a rat’s booty about how I look (take that giddy three-year old right behind me, for instance).
I may not have a fancy handbag or a closet full of designer shoes, but I have time with my little guy (and his 6- and 8-year old siblings who also think bike helmets are wicked cool!). Since they say time is money, I must be the richest and most well-dressed girl in the world.
Everyone has their own little daily demons and “keeping up” happens to be one of mine. I know, we should all be so lucky to have such an insignificant problem, right? Just acknowledging that haphazard little question today told me, as I reflected on myself in that storefront window: from now on, I’ll remember that I’m incredibly and unapologetically blessed.
Me. No makeup. Unwashed strands of gray. You can’t see my shoes but I’m sure you can guess what they are. And the little guy who made me realize today that I am out in the world having an undeniably amazing time (even without Tory and Kate).
*Allow me to clarify that in the company of a very select few people on earth who know me as well as I know myself (and who know who you are), I wouldn’t need an apology if I were dressed in mud and grass, at which point you’d hope I was in a Halloween costume – but I digress…