On Sunday, I took my daughter to get her first real haircut. And by real, I mean I paid someone who was not related to her to cut her bangs. It was just too hot to deal with her squirming around, with me trying not to blind her with the scissors. So we made the trip to the local hair cut store and got a little trim.
She looked like such a big kid, going to a “salon” to get her hair done. In actuality, she got a $15 mediocre cut that missed quite a few hairs…but I digress. The coolest part was on the ride home. I glanced back and caught her sneaking peeks of herself in the rearview mirror. She was full-on posing, making pouty faces and giggling and smiling while flipping her hair from side to side. I admired her ability to love what she saw in that mirror. She was having a blast and it got me thinking. When was the last time I looked in the mirror and just smiled at what I saw there?
Usually, when I actually take the time to stop and look at myself in the mirror, it’s not with compliments running through my brain. Let’s be honest. As a working mom, I’m lucky if I take the time to make sure my hair isn’t sticking up, let alone take time to really look at and admire what I see in the mirror. The commentary usually goes like this: “Hey there luggage, how did you get under my eyes? And the 536 new gray hairs? Welcome to the family. Extra chin! When did you get there? Meet your long-lost twin…” You get the picture.
When I see my daughter using the mirror for sheer enjoyment, it makes me so incredibly happy. That’s what mirrors should be for: making faces and pretending to be in fairy tales! It makes me want to find a way to freeze her at this age of silly faces and hamming it up. I want to steal some of that magic and use it on my own reflection. But why can’t I? I used to be that kind of child, you know , the one who never met a mirror she didn’t like. How much energy would I save if I started to love what I see in the mirror and not be so critical of myself? Ok, maybe love is a strong word, but I can start liking it at least. All I need to start with is a genuine SMILE and a simple “Shut the eff up!” to that inner Joan Rivers.
Instead of viewing the mirror as something to rush past, I can use it as a portal for self-love. I want to reawaken that silly little girl who is buried somewhere deep inside me. The one who didn’t care what the reflection looked like. The one who made silly faces and posed for the “camera”. She was a lot of fun. So thank you Zoey, for making me see a new use for an old thing. The mirror that is, not my face.