Beauty Marks

When I was a little girl, my mom did a really fabulous job of making me feel beautiful. Every morning I would go into her bathroom and she would brush and style my hair according to my requests: curly, straight, crimped. High pony, topsy-turvy, "half up-half down." Finish with a bow and some Aqua Net. She had these really awesome vanity bulbs lining her mirror that made me feel like a movie star.
(Ahhhhh, the '90's!)

She called our little skin imperfections "beauty marks." I counted each one of them with pride. I honestly remember my younger self feeling concerned about the fact that my little sister had a beauty mark on her foot and I didn't. Every time I found another one, I was excited and not ashamed.

I remembered thinking it didn't matter that I had crooked teeth, because I still had a nice smile. It didn't matter if my hands were a little bit sweaty, because that meant I worked hard. It didn't matter if my elbows twisted out all double jointed-like, because that was just a neat trick I could do. It didn't matter if my arms and legs were too gangly for the rest of my body. That meant I was going to be really graceful one day.

My mama might have been a little too good at her job.
She once put me in an etiquette class at the mall, but I was convinced it was only because she wanted me to be in the fashion show at the end. I didn't pay much attention to the instructions about table manners or speaking quietly or walking down the stairs without looking at your feet. I was more concerned about rocking that sequined star baseball cap with my red tank top and denim skort. (Seriously, y'all. The '90's were the very best.)

My teenage years were as awkward as anyone's, but I didn't know it. These days I can't even fully describe how much I appreciate the fact that we didn't have Internet tutorials to show us the proper way to do things. I'm forever grateful I didn't have to master the smoky eye or painting on my eyebrows. I didn't have to have a clue what haircut was right for my face shape or what in the world highlighter did. In fact, I didn't have to know anything save "that's what Rachel from Friends did."
If I could gift that kind of freedom to teenage girls, I would have spent all of my money on presents by now. I firmly believe that every teenage girl should make the mistake of wearing a shade of eyeliner solely because it is your favorite color. (Lime green, and I wish I was kidding...)

A chronicle of me through the years. Top left: please note the wooden skewer holding up my hair. Bottom left: because nobody told me perms were a bad idea. Right: ombre before it was cool. I had bleached my hair completely blonde, and this was the final stage of that catastrophe.
Also 1. vest, 2. overalls, 3. That 70s Show.

But back to my mama.

I'm not sure if it was the deployments or my genetics, but I started going noticeably grayer in my late twenties. My mom had dyed her hair for as long as I could remember, but I had sworn it all away after the blonde fiasco. When I went to my mom for advice, she did what she had always done so well: she made me feel beautiful. Then she told me to consider letting nature take its course. (All these years later, it is still like mama is fixing my hair.)

At first going gray was exciting. I honestly didn't know a lot of people in my circle who were doing it, and so it felt like a special thing---like my double-jointed elbows! But after a while, the gray hairs kept coming in and I started to feel more...I don't know...alone?
What started out special began to feel like a blemish. People started commenting on it. A lot.
"Are you going to dye it?"
"You look so young! Are you sure?"
"Good for you! I would, but I'm afraid I'll look like a hag."
One time a complete stranger came to my door to try to sell me something, stopped mid-sales pitch and said, "I'm sorry, but I can't help asking. Are those gray hairs real?"

Boy, you best get yourself off the porch step!

I don't know what it is about going gray, but people find it confusing. Why would you want to look old? Why would you let your flaws show if you could fix it? And to their benefit, we really don't have many examples of people who choose to just let their hair alone. I figure I'm about as weird as a person with unicorn hair would have been to me in the '90's. I get it. It's different.

But letting nature take its course isn't giving up on beauty.
And aging isn't a blemish that has to be covered up.

The funny thing about feeling alone is that you almost never are.
So to all of my friends that may be feeling flawed:

Your gray hairs glitter just as much as any highlight.
Those wrinkles? Some of the best ones are the laugh lines that you earned. The furrows on your brow are from caring about things.
Those sun spots are there because you've spent days in the sun!
Your hands will start to show some wear, because you've done some good things with those hands.
Those marks on your belly are evidence of the life it held.
The scars on your body declare the battles you've won.
Your tired feet are carrying you through a life well lived.

Those things you think are imperfections are really just your beauty marks.
Number them, and be proud.