Mirrors: Of Confidence and Confidants

As I stare into the mirror on our 400, which for some reason happens to magnify every single thing, I am horrified to discover that it is high time to nair my face. Goodness me! How long have I been walking around with a full beard and mustache. When did my eyebrows turn from them to it?! I realize I haven’t taken a deep breath in three minutes and need to leave the lav before I’m axfixiated by the smell of blue juice. And just as soon as I clear my lungs with recycled air, so is my mind cleared of any thoughts of the horrors found in my mirror.

I’m dawning my sequined dress that I’ve been saving for a special occasion. I’m putting the finishing touches on my party lips and realize just how fabulous I’m look. I clean up quite nicely if I do say so myself. And it doesn’t hurt that this mirror makes me look like a 6’3 super model. Yasssss!

I’ve just finished blow drying my hair and am placing my blow dryer in my hair drawer, when I hear the crack of my hand mirror. I look in the drawer to see a bunch of tiny Morgan’s staring back at me. The first thought to cross my mind (of course after the initial shock of 7 years of bad luck) was how am I going to see how great I look from behind?

Call it vain, but I have a bit of an obsession with mirrors.

The neat thing about mirrors isn’t the mirror itself, yet what it reflects. What’s reflected in a mirror depends not only on what’s placed before it, but also who’s looking and from which angle they’re looking; and to take it a bit further-what you’re looking for.

That’s another special thing about mirrors, the reasons we use them. Obviously mirrors show us what we can’t naturally see for ourselves–but we use different mirrors for different reasons. There’s a mirror above my sink so I can see myself as I brush my teeth. My full length mirror is to see how professional I look in my uniform. My rear view mirror shows me just how close I am to hitting the itty bitty Fiat behind me. The compact I keep in my apron shows me just how long I can go without getting my ‘stache waxed (not long at all)!

Mirrors are like people.

Mirrors are like friends.

Close friends. Mirrors are like close friends.

We look to our friends to show us things which we cannot on our own see.

Our friends close friends confidants, reflect to us what we’ve presented before them.

I’ve have this friend (no, really, it’s my friend-not me) who begins nearly every conversation with, “So tell me if I’m wrong, because I know that you will.” I kid you not, every conversation between us begins this way; and the ones that don’t begin with, “Girl, let me tell you what happened!” I find it quite amusing; but moreover, I find fulfillment in knowing that I’ve presented myself to her as not only someone of moral character, but also an ear to listen.

I value my interactions with people. I feel that there is a purpose in each experience I have with others. Interactions are series of responses. Responses are reactions. Reflections of what or who you are. I use these moments to self-evaluate. I use my reflection that I see in others to decide whether or not I’m showing others what I want them to see.

The reflection in my mirror inspires confidence. It shows me that I’m presenting my best face to the world. The reflection in my mirror inspires self-improvement and acceptance. It shows me that I have flaws that may be visible the longer and closer I stand before it. It also shows me that if I present myself in a different light and at a different angle, those flaws are minor details.

My mirrors in life give me confidence. My mirrors in life are my confidants. What more does a young woman need in this life? Besides wine, that is.

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Scarred.

I wash my hands a lot. Says everyone. But really, I do. Well at work at least. So imagine my surprise, after having washed my hands for what could certainly have been the 10th time in two hours, at feeling the burn of a tiny cut on the back of my hand. How did that happen? Better yet, when? Somewhere between the final wash during deplaning and making it home sweet home, I’d nicked my hand. It obviously didn’t hurt when it happened, and apparently came from something completely ordinary, but the damage- albeit tiny and probably temporary- was done.

Oftentimes after a few days of working, I can almost certainly find a new bruise somewhere on my body. Usually doesn’t hurt unless I poke at it (which is what you’re supposed to do with mysterious bruises), and I can hardly ever account for when or how I got them; but something definitely hit me with enough force to leave a mark.

I think that’s how life works. Life’s lessons aren’t always big, bold, “it came to me in a dream” messages; rather they’re often pretty subtle and some even downright stealth. It’s like you’re going about life as usual and one day you notice something or someone has affected you in a way you’d almost never notice.

Sometimes you won’t even know you’ve been taught a lesson until you feel the light sting as you’re cleaning yourself up or taking a good look at your reflection in the mirror. And while you may never be able to account from where the scars or bruises came, you’ll notice they’re there and until they’re not, you’ll be a bit more cautious and a bit more aware of your actions with a subconscious desire to avoid that which has pained you.

Yet, just as soon as the sting of your cuts and tenderness of your bruises subside, so too does your quest for the source.

In the words of Ed Sheeran:

Pain is only relevant if it still hurts.’