What Really Matters
I was going through old photos again. I do this sometimes. And I love it. I love sifting through moments, days, years. And sometimes I happen upon photos I've never seen. I've noticed a trend: If the images are of my girls, I love them. But often, if they are of me, I'm quick to find fault. I look so disheveled, puffy, tired.
But the other day, this didn't happen. I found these photos from one year ago and I knew they were the kind that would have historically made me cringe. There was messy hair and glasses and extra-casual clothes. There were bad angles and double chins, but what I saw most: Love.
I saw love in these pictures. I saw a mother who is real and in it, who loves her girls. I saw affection and playfulness and joy.
And when I saw this good stuff more than the bad, self-judgment stuff, I thought to myself: Whoa, I'm changing.
Look, a little bit of vanity is probably a good thing. There's nothing wrong with caring about how we look, but it's not what matters most. It just isn't.
How do you react when you see yourself in photos? Are you quick to criticize?