BoomerGirl Diary

When I first saw my photograph for this column, I said to my husband:

“I look too serious; you’d think I was a nun.”

“Mm …” he mulled, “I like it. You look sage and sophisticated.”

“Oh no!” I responded. “I wanted to look sassy and sexy.”

Do you ever feel dissatisfied when you look at your photograph? On a recent cruise with my husband’s extended family, we had several professional group shots taken. When they were developed, I immediately checked to see how I looked. The one where I was captured at just the right moment — chin up, stomach in, was declared the best.

“No, not that one,” argued Don, “I look terrible. My face is scrunched.”

We both laughed. After a lengthy examination, we managed to pick one where we both looked “reasonable.” If I believe I’m not self-centered, I need only remember how I act when I judge a group photograph.

I love the story about Pablo Picasso’s encounter in a café in Paris. The artist was sipping his coffee and minding his own business when a middle-aged man accosted him.

“Are you the guy who makes women look so grotesque?” the intruder barked. “Why can’t you paint people as they really are, instead of making them look so awful?”

“Are you married?” asked Picasso.

“Yes, I am, and I wouldn’t let you paint my wife.”

“Do you have a photograph of her?”

The man opened his billfold, took out a photograph and handed it over.

Picasso examined it carefully from various angles.

“What a tiny, one-dimensional little blob she is. I couldn’t possibly paint someone like that.”

The challenge of looking at our image is that we judge the exterior representation. It’s easy for me to do this in my spiritual life as well. I can present a façade to others and attempt to create an illusion of perfection. When I dressed in the full regalia of a nun, people tended to see me a certain way. They expected me to act “holy,” and if I said or did anything outside the box of their expectations they held me accountable for their shock. On a holiday in Ireland, as a young nun, my sisters invited me to go roller-skating on a quiet country road. I hiked up my skirt, pulled the veil way back and skated off laughing and carrying on like only sisters can.

Several cars swished by until one screeched to a halt, and then reversed. The window rolled down, and a woman with a lemon-curd face shouted at me:

“You are an absolute disgrace, Sister. What do you think you’re doing anyway?”

“She’s in fancy dress,” my youngest sibling giggled.

“That’s even worse,” the mouth proclaimed. “You should all be ashamed of yourselves.”

I know there are times when behavior has to be modified and standards maintained. When I taught high school, I worked hard to respect boundaries, watch my language, and model the standards I expected of my pupils. I played a role. The danger was that I nearly became the role and lost the real me. For many years I presented a photograph of myself to the world and revealed only what I perceived to be my “best side.”

Discovering and revealing my true self has required faith and courage; it is an ongoing journey. I have been judged and rejected; but I have also discovered the amazing blessings of deep, authentic relationships. These resulted when I took the risk of being real, and others reciprocated. I can choose to live as a flat, one-dimensional representation of my true self or continue to work to create a true and priceless masterpiece.

I like to believe that part of our shared spiritual journey is to encourage each other to reach inward and discover the unused palettes in our heart and soul.

In a letter to the Ephesians, Paul tells us “we are God’s masterpieces.” I’m not saying this inward journey is easy; I’m saying it’s a rewarding and necessary one if we are to become real.

Does the smile on your photograph reach into the eyes of your soul?

What might the masterpiece of the rest of your life look like?