About a week ago, I sat with three dear friends. We were enjoying what we are desperately trying to make into a monthly girl’s night out, truly relishing one another’s company. Each other’s quirks. Laughing from long-established inside jokes. Savoring a good meal.
After dinner, we squished together on a bench seat and I stuck out my arm, hoping to capture our friendship in the perfect selfie photo. When we realized getting all four of us in the photo was going to be a problem, a well-taught young waiter (thanks to his mama!) offered to assist and proceeded to capture our group from an angle far more flattering than the length of my arm could handle.
And then I thought about the way my chin was tilted, if my neck was extended and if my body was angled the right way. All the things to take a “good picture” were cluttering my mind so much so that my smile had no shine to it. It didn’t capture our laughter, our fun banter, or the complete admiration I have for these women in my lives.
What it captured was someone trying too hard. A person that was trying to button up and be someone she is not. Someone trying too hard to put out that perfect image, which in turn, was far from perfect.
Later that night, looking back on those photos, I realized I had lost my smile. I had lost that spark and raw joy that can only be captured in abandonment of caring what others are thinking.
It made me think about taking photos of a 5-year-old when they suddenly forget how to smile. You know the stage. Every request seems to bring forth a forced and odd teeth-baring clench of the face. The eyes bugged out. The look was often followed by the plea to “smile naturally” and the frantic desire to make the kiddo laugh to capture their true spirit, only to find the moment completely lost.
Okay, so I wasn’t that bad, but if I look at the photo, I realize the real me is missing. The slightly goofy, silly, dancing-in-my-seat-when-I-hear-a-good-song part of me was hidden behind a mask of prim and proper and shielding my true personality.
I don’t know when it began. I look back on photos before smart phones and digital cameras and I used to smile so brightly. Perhaps the occurrence of social media played a part. The feeling that all eyes would be focused on me and my imperfections. My desire of always wanting to fit in, but always feeling like I was two steps behind. I don’t know if it escalated when I got my Invisalign and feared that all people could see were these invisible trays in my mouth, or worse yet, the bulging tooth-colored attachments on 13 of my teeth. (Okay, I realize they are called INVIS-align for a reason!) Or perhaps I became even more self-aware when I moved to braces and was getting spinach wrapped around my brackets every time I opened my mouth. They were probably all contributing factors.
But then I realized immediately after reflecting on that night that none of what was keeping me from smiling my true smile really mattered. I was entering into Spring break with my kids, and if there’s ever gonna be a photo of me the entire week, it’s pretty much going to have to be a selfie. And the last thing I want for my kids to see in our photo is their mama being so, well, perfectly not me.
And so I began to smile. Big, hearty, happy smiles in all our pictures. And, you know what? I absolutely LOVE those photos. They show joy. They capture the moment. They’re not perfect and you can see my brace-face clear as a bell. But you can also see so much more. You can see what’s real. Our flaws. What’s perfectly imperfect. And it’s beautiful.
I’ve decided to let go of my insecurities. Well, I’m going to do my best anyway. I’ve decided to embrace my personal style, my goofiness, and let my light shine. It’s my hope that my children, and all those around me, will truly see that I am filled with gratitude from all the friendships and love that surrounds me, and that you, too, will join me in letting your true smile shine. Because, you know what? It's absolutely perfect in my eyes.
