When Beautiful Is the Only Thing Worth Being
My perfectionism had informed every aspect of my life, but none more so than my desire to be beautiful
“Hey, beautiful.” He barely paused to let his greeting land on me.
I was standing in a train station vestibule, exhausted—emotionally and physically. I had just completed a grueling train ride, my second of the weekend. Fellow train passengers walked through the vestibule and out into the cold, most without seeing me. But then he did.
I perked up. I was not flattered. But a man was complimenting my appearance, so I was obligated to acknowledge him. And not just acknowledge, but express gratitude. My focus was no longer my approaching Lyft; it was acknowledging this man. It was expressing my gratitude with an appropriately pleasant reply. It was the least I could do.
“Hi, how are you?” It was a rhetorical question because he was already out the door.
There was no joy in his voice, no happiness to see me. His acknowledgment of me was as perfunctory as mine of him. We were both performing the roles ascribed to us.
Some version of this performance has happened many times before and was always quickly forgotten. But this time, I did not forget. I thought about what had happened…
