I had another small milestone today. I got a new driver's license. That doesn't sound like any big thing-and it's not- except that for the last few years I've been carrying around a license with a photo of myself completely bald.
Today I got to take a new photo, With hair.
I know the DMV doesn't sound like an inspiring place to hang out. And it's not. But today I got to observe something that made me think twice about my little milestones.
I got there and they were calling #122. I pulled the little tab and my number was 151. I looked around a full waiting area and settled in, prepared to be there a while. I'd forgotten a book, which almost never happens. There was nothing to do except watch a slowly cycling series of ads on a TV or people watch. I chose people watching.
Pretty soon, it was impossible to ignore a small cluster of people on one side of the room. They were laughing and cutting up. They would get loud, then quiet back down, only to get loud again.
In your head, are you imagining teenagers? They weren't. They were four senior citizens.
They looked exactly like the image you would likely conjur up with those words, too. Senior. Citizen. A little bit overweight, but not excessively. Wrinkles. Bent backs. And what hair was left between the two men and two women were shades of white and grey. Still, with their happy smiles and easy banter, it was impossible to think of them in negative terms. Instead, I looked at them and thought, "I hope I'm like that when I'm old."
And actually, I hope I'm like that now. Happy.
Now, I'm done at the DMV. I look down at the driver's license in my hand, at the head of hair evident in the picture. I think about those four senior citizens and their balding heads and realize that hair really doesn't matter at all.
One day, whether by disease or just old age, I won't be beautiful. The doctors tell me my hair might all fall out again one day. There's no way to know. I believe that whether that happens or not, whether I just get funny-looking because I'm old, I'll still be beautiful to someone. And I hope that one day when I'm old and funny-looking, I share a waiting room with a young woman and remind her that that stuff doesn't matter any way. It's what's in your heart that matters.
When I look in the mirror and think about my hair falling out again, it's difficult. I can admit that much. But I choose to live my life not fearing that possibility. Almost everyone has been told something, whether by a doctor or a family member that they have something to fear. Maybe someone criticized you about too many freckles or an unusual birthmark. Maybe you've been told you'll lose your sight or hearing or maybe you've been ridiculed for your skin or hair. Maybe you just look in the mirror and loathe the wrinkles forming, the greys coming in.
I want to encourage you. It doesn't really matter. You are beautiful to someone. And if you don't believe me, look around. Chances are, there's someone in your vicinity that is funny-looking for some reason. And are they really so unlovable because of it? Of course not. It doesn't matter. What matters is what is in your heart.
You matter because of what is in your heart.