At the Intersection

We were standing at the corner of the intersection, me balancing on my seven speed townie while he stood adjusting his baseball cap and gripping the handle bar of his road bike. The sun glistened, my eyes slivers as they squinted to see if the signal was telling us to cross. I reached up and touched my still damp hair from an afternoon swim, which was twisted up into an uneven top knot. I realized I must look a bit disheveled, knowing I hadn't ever looked in the mirror that day to conceal blemishes or add a hint of blush. Glancing over, he was still there, adjusting his hat and bike wheels slightly rolling. Even his sunglasses couldn't hide the brightness of the sun, and I could see my reflection staring back at me as soon as he looked my way.

Me: "I'm sorry I look a mess"

Him: "What do you mean?"

Me: "I haven't put any make-up on and haven't touched my hair since my swim. I'm sure I look less than pretty."

Him: "I didn't even notice you had no make-up on. I never really notice."

Me: "What..."

Him: "You are pretty with or without. You're the same."

Up until that moment at the intersection, bikes and a picnic dinner were our sole mission. Whizzing through neighborhoods, sun beaming down, lies about my appearance hadn't been let in. I had forgotten about my disheveled top knot, lack of beauty products, and uncoordinated outfit. And it felt good. In those moments leading up to my apology at the intersection, adventure was winning, true beauty had the upper hand, and lies were not seeping in. But the moment I saw my reflection, the moment I was reminded that I may not look so put together, adventure stopped winning and a lie got the best of me. A lie that caused a gut reaction to apologize to my husband--apologize for not looking pretty because I hadn't washed my face or put on make-up. A lie that told me, because I didn't hide a blemish or rouge my cheeks, that I was a mess.

And what a lie this lie was. 

Fleeting vs. Abiding | Love Yourself Linkup

If every person who ever thought they needed to change something to be prettier, felt one hundred percent loved--all of the time--would they in fact still feel the need to change? When I came across these words by Kate Wicker, from Weightless: Making Peace with Your Body, I had this moment where if you were there, you may have seen a lightbulb hovering over my head. And this strand of words, it continues to get me thinking: How can we love ourselves and others more fully, so as not to feel the need to change ourselves to be prettier, to change ourselves to the norm of our culture, to change ourselves because it makes us waiver less in our ability to fit in. If wanting to feel loved is the root of self-worth, body image, and our drive to change, then let's consider how it is we need to better feel loved and better love another. 

I am struck with the fact that I need to love others better, while facing straight on my need to love myself deeper, too. I've rolled around with how loving others goes hand in hand with loving yourself, over and over, this past month since writing about it. Truth, it doesn't get any simpler: the root of our desire to change is a desire to be loved. So do we really want to bear the mark, and the trial to reach unattainable standards, of physical beauty--wasting life's moments for something ever fleeting? Or do we want to bear the internal mark of learning to love others and ourselves more purely--relying on each other, and God, to purposefully teach us, investing life's moments on something abiding?