There are some men that were put on this earth to make you cry and there are others who will always make you blush with gratitude. One of my dearest gentleman friends told me recently, "If he's a man that's attracted to women he's going to look at you and be attracted." There are those compliments that lift your spirits for that day and then there are those that seem to fill a tiny crack in your heart.
He also insightfully diagnosed a change in me from when we first met years ago. "I'll tell you what it is," he said. "You smile less. When I first met you your smiles seemed to be a coping mechanism for you and I worried about you. Now when you smile, it is clear it comes from real joy." And I thought of my Mother.
Change is such a subtle beast. It sneaks its' way into your bed and gradually picks away at the layers of you until you look in the mirror one day and realize whole portions of you are missing. It's not simply a good or a bad thing, it's merely surprising. You're not even sure when it happened or how it happened or if it's even really gone. It takes the objective eyes of strangers to see what your own reflection is too hesitant to notice. The lady in the looking glass sees the happenings of yesteryear much like your Mother and the friends who knew you when it wasn't very cool to. But she, like her jaded twin, cannot unblur the lines that have faded and strains to focus her eyes on the flashing lights before her.
And so, delighting in this reverie, she manages to step through the glass and much to her amusement, nothing shatters. A helpmate rather than a hindrance, her past houses her transition. Her home, warm with release, urges her forward and she can now be seen for the first time. The crowds turn their heads and she smiles with contentment.
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