For the second time in 61 years, I actually felt pretty.
I woke up the morning after and realized I was still processing the previous night’s experience. I felt grateful and a little bit regretful.
Ma'am?
At the Cash Register
I know I said “thank you” with a smile on my face as I looked at the young stranger. I hope she saw that genuine smile and felt the light that burst forth as I received her compliment.
It was Monday night, and I’d eaten supper with my sister and a friend of ours at the only Mexican restaurant in town. I was paying our three separate bills with three separate stacks of cash. I was focused on keeping everyone’s change straight so that I could return to the table ready to hand out the change appropriately.
As I stood at the cash register waiting for the first bill to be processed, I heard, “Ma’am?”
It took me a second to realize that I might be the “ma’am” being addressed and then to acknowledge that I had heard that voice. As I turned and made eye contact with the young lady who had spoken, she said, “You are pretty.”
Wise
At That Age
She is a being wise beyond her years, not because she called me pretty, but because she was being observant and articulating her own observations to a stranger. She was brave and confident. All things it has taken me a lifetime to achieve intermittently.
I do not know her name, yet I know her. She is I, the I that I might have been at that age if only ...
She said, “You are pretty.” That is all. You are pretty. I thanked her and then continued with my transactions after looking at the adult she was with. He and I exchanged a look, but no words.
I returned to the table and shared with my table mates what she told me. “See that girl over there? She told me I was pretty.”
Me
At That Point
I am grateful that I accepted the compliment without being dismissive or self-deprecating. I simply said “thank you” and turned back to the cash register. For only the second time in my life, I believed I was pretty. I felt pretty. From this distance with time in between us now, as I picture her standing at the cash register, I see me. At that point in time, I did not. It was over so quickly.
I am grateful that she delivered that message to me. I have only ever once before in my life believed that I am pretty, but that girl by the cash register? She made me see me through her eyes and when I look through them? I see pretty.
People have told me many times that they like my haircut or hairstyle. I say thank you and don’t believe my haircut is me. People also have told me many times that they like my skirt, and I say thank you, but the skirt is not me. I have always (almost always?) disassociated myself from all compliments I receive. Those things that receive compliments are on me, near me, but they aren’t the me I am familiar with; they are superficial.
Message
From My Mom
To be honest, my outward reaction was genuine – I am surprised and happy to report that I have learned to accept a compliment without being self-deprecating.
However, following this authentic gratitude, my brain, my inner voice, said, “She doesn’t mean you. You are wearing a beautiful, colorful skirt – that’s what is pretty, not you.” I am so grateful that I did not give her or my table mates any indication that that was the voice in my head. I might have expressed surprise and pleasure at the young woman’s compliment, but I didn’t express the doubt that was in my head.
The morning after, I cried because I realized during meditation that that young woman delivered a message to me not only from herself but also from my mom. I realized that pretty resonates as coming from my mom because of a couple fragments of family lore that involve pretty.
Heart
In Pieces
The little bit of regret that I feel is rooted in the fact that I didn’t say more to that girl at the time, so here is a message for her (and you):
You are pretty, too. And when I say pretty, I also mean brave, confident, observant, kind, generous and loving among many more beautiful characteristics.
That morning, I cried during and after my meditation. The message that followed the realization that Mom was communicating with me?
Break open your heart so all of its light can be released into this world. A whole heart cannot truly do its job properly. This message is the corollary to what I’ve heard before – a broken heart lets more love come in through the cracks: the corollary is a broken heart lets all the love out to be shared.
So, thank you, Mom, for all the messages, all the love. You have always been pretty to me.
Angela Jane