The ruin of self-critisicm

I originally authored this blog post at some point last summer. Today I have felt inspired to write, and decided to dust off the blog and add something to it. In doing so, I found this still sitting in edit mode. I no longer see those negative things (save for the wonky eye!) listed at the beginning of this post when I see this picture, confirming that time has a way of offering perspective to our perception of ourselves as captured in a photo.  So, after reviewing, decided to post it. 

Authored: sometime in summer of 2017. Posted over a year later (read: I don't need a pep talk about my self talk!).

Let's air out a universal truth in my world: I dislike taking pictures.  Selfies, posed, spontaneous...doesn't matter.  Why?  I generally see more I dislike than I find redeeming.

Ugh.  What a gut punch to say.  But a truth nonetheless.

In the picture above, my first instinct is to see my crow's feet (my how I've aged!), my one wonky eye (as Laura would say it), the fact that I needed to have my roots done (to cover the gray hair), what I think of as a wrinkly chin, a crooked smile, and a fat arm.  There.  I said it all.

But wait... I LOVE this picture. It was snapped as we walked through the gate of the State Fair last year, full of excitement and anticipation. When I look at it, I see just that.  The fact that Julia was so excited she wouldn't (I mean resolutely refused) to let me fix her hair.  That Jenna was snuggling behind me and willing to take the picture only because she knew fighting about it would stand between her and the ferris wheel.  JP bending WAY down to fit into the picture (so I could have an angle acceptable to me...lol).  And me - in the moment with my little family, and full of joy.

And if I step past my first instinct....what I see...crow's feet earned through the joy of laughter...roots left untouched because I would rather take an afternoon off of work to spend it with my family at the fair...a wonky eye because EVERYONE has one (really...you know you do)...a crooked smile because I still don't have it perfected, as I'm living life rather than spending time trying to figure out how to make it look good in pictures (and it's my genuine, crooked smile)...strong arms that wrap and protect my girls, fight for my husband, and work to hold up those around me...and a me that is true to me.

What if I had never taken this picture? What if I never took a picture? How sad would it be that my pride keep me from commemorating - for me and for my girls - the good times that stand out from the mundane?  I love those pictures from when I was little.  I love those pictures now.


And then I think of Nana B. Even in the end, when cancer treatment took her hair, her skin was ashen, and she was so, so tired, she never (not once) shied away from a picture.  She never asked how she looked, worried about the angle, or what she was wearing, or whether it would be posted to social media.  She LOVED life, and she LOVED people (especially her people), and wanted it recorded at all costs.  Now we have some of the most amazing photos to remind us of those times - both mundane and beyond - and of her.

Certainly there is a downside to the selfie revolution...and I have sat in awe as people spent more time trying to record and promote the "good time" they were having, rather than actually having it.  But avoiding pictures altogether because I don't like the way I look?  How is that fair to anyone, especially those who will seek those pictures for comfort at some point in the (hopefully far) future.

Most importantly, what is think I see reflected in a picture of me is genuinely not a reflection of the reality of me. When I see a picture of Nana B, I see love, light, and everything that encompassed her as a person, not her physical attributes. So, I will post away, and capture the moment, in all of it's reality and beauty.

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