Life on the road can be isolating as much as it is liberating. As much as I equally want to be a hermit, no longer caring about what I look like, I still want to engage with others and care about what I look like. It’s so easy to hide away under layers of clothes to hide an expanding waistline or put on a hat to cover a gradually-growing untamable mane.
It is a constant exercise in confidence-building and self-esteem. (WHICH I’M SUPER DUPER GOOD AT, BY THE WAY. Not.)
When I woke this morning after quickly putting on some pants and a hat to cover up my bed (er, car) head, and the new flannel men’s shirt I got from Goodwill yesterday, I made my way to the restroom area of the RV park. As I rounded the corner, a young boy about 10 or 11 emerged, his blonde hair freshly tussled, donning reddish-pink goggles with his towel cooly slung over his shoulder. I quickly crossed my arms over my chest, because I wasn’t wearing a bra (I’m liberated, remember? 😉 ), and I offered him a small smile before looking past him to find the bathroom.
“Good morning!” he proclaimed, surprising me with his bright and cheerful tone. I replied, matching his cheeriness — my uneasiness instantly erased.
As we passed each other, he turned around and said to me, “You know, you’re looking really beautiful this morning.” My spirit soared. I brightened even more. “Thank you!” I beamed back.
OMG WHO IS THIS KID AND WHERE CAN I THANK HIS PARENTS?! 😀
It is moments like this morning when I reminded of what it means to be really beautiful. It’s not about what you wear, (ahem: AMELIA), and it’s not about what you look like, or even how you sometimes feel, remember? Beauty exists, because YOU exist. And of course, it helps when others see it, too.
As I sat and made my breakfast, I kept on the lookout for him. Soon, I spotted him riding his mountain bike through the RV park, red goggles in place — a masked crusader of light and beauty streaming through the forest of campers. I shouted to him, “Hello!” He turned to find me and shouted back, “Hello!” And after a beat and without pausing to slow his steed, he said, “My parents need soda!” I smiled. “Ok!” I said. Then he was gone, off to sweeten and save the world one more time.
Thank you, masked crusader. Saluting you from campsite #33.