Scrapbookin' & Useless Information

I've been thinking about scars lately. Anyone want to guess why? Well, it's partly because of how I ended my final systems piece. The words "battle-scarred soldier" and "more brilliant for your scrapes and scratches" have been bouncing around in my head. Personally, I think I was quite well-worded and poetic in that post. Still, I do try to fact check and make sure that what I'm saying is accurate, so when I tell people that their scrapes and scratches do make them more beautiful I have to be sure I'm correct. Now you're wondering how I can determine if a completely arbitrary opinion is, in fact truth. 

Well...I couldn't. I tried! Mostly. I did some thinking (and absolutely no real research) and couldn't come up with a single piece of evidence that supports my belief that scars are desirable and good and beautiful and glorious and...while I still think all that's true, I have no proof. While it's lovely to say that a scratched crystal is as precious as an unblemished one, it's just not fact. A piece of clear polished glass or silver is much preferable to a tarnished, cracked one. A whole, smooth piece of wood is way prettier than a gouged, unvarnished one. It is true that scratchy things (steel wool, sandpaper, diamonds, etc.) can make something more beautiful, but that's because those things take the scars away. 

I guess what I'm saying is that I lied to you. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to. Unfortunately I now find myself between a rock and a diamond saw, a banister and sandpaper, and an old pot and steel wool because while fact might indicate that scars are bad, I don't actually base my life on fact. What I'm about to say is not verifiable truth. At best, I suppose it's a believable lie. Don't let that scare you away!!

Scrapbookin' - Where I work, people are always asking me to tell them the "most commonly asked question." I think they're expecting some really valuable piece of advise because it's what everyone's struggling with or wants to know. They don't believe me when I tell them that the most commonly asked question is "Where's the bathroom?" I wish that were a lie but it is, unfortunately, verifiable fact. Beyond that question, there really isn't a "most commonly asked" about topic. Sure, there are things I tend to discuss on a more regular basis, but not because the question is the same, merely because the answers overlap. 

Still, I do try to keep track of the questions I am asked because maybe one day I'll be able to confidently tell someone the second most commonly asked question (I have a very strong suspicion that the bathroom question will always top priority). As a result, I do know that I am often asked what I'd recommend for reducing or preventing scarring. Which is a fact that never ceases to surprise me. I honestly didn't realize how concerned a lot of people are about their scars. I have never cared (at least, not enough to do anything about it) about my scars. I'm so lazy that when I stabbed my arm with a lilac branch earlier this year and caused a surprisingly long and deep scratch near my elbow, I glanced down at the blood, decided it wasn't worth going inside for even though it was definitely going to scar, spat on it (because, you know, the healing properties of saliva, obviously), and kept pruning the bush.

I've got stretch marks on my knees, burn scars all over my wrists and fingers, random leftovers from childhood skin rashes (rash isn't quite the right word, but I don't have a better one). It left scars. That's all that really matters. On occasion I get a scar that I'm really proud of. I've got a chickenpox scar reminding me that I survived, a scar from the rabbit that decided it didn't like being held and tore it's way across my arms to escape, a scar from the day I swung over a fence and punctured my shin on a rusty post (and proudly, did not get tetanus from the experience). I've got this really interesting scar on the inside of my fourth finger. I'm not sure where it's from, but it looks like something got stuck deep under my skin and has just decided to hang out there for the rest of my life. I don't mind. I got burned on the oven rack the other day and didn't even bother to run my hand under water because I thought the placement would make an interesting addition to my burn scars. 

I care so little about scars now (actually gloat when I get them) that I'm stunned and a little incredulous every time I have to answer a question about how to avoid scars. Especially the other day when a beautiful customer came in the other day with a face covered in surgery marks and scars who was looking for something to help her heal from a surgery she'd had to remove the scars on her face. The surgery was not a success and I couldn't help wondering if, in her efforts to hide her scars, she might have made them more prominent. I hope not for her sake. Most heartbreaking was watching her hide her face, apologize for how she looked, and timidly duck in and out of the aisles to avoid interaction. All because she couldn't see the beauty that I saw in her--scars and all. 

After helping that customer, I returned to my tasks and struck up a conversation with my coworker about the experience. Before long we were swapping scar stories. Compared to my coworker, my scars are downright boring. With pride, she related that she was always getting cut, burned, scratched, and who knows what as a kid. When she was younger she used to mourn each scar because she thought it diminished her beauty. Luckily she had a wise dad who told her that each scar was just proof she was actually living her life--a reminder of the stories and memories that accompanied each new mark on her skin--a "scrapbook on her body," as she called it. The conversation got interrupted there, but I kept thinking about it. 

Especially when I stared at myself in the mirror and contemplated getting my hair cut. In that moment, analyzing the length and health of my hair, I realized my body really was a scrapbook--an amalgamation of all the experiences, thoughts, and beliefs I've complied throughout my life. And not all of them are good. Of all the scars I've collected during my life, the scar that has impacted me and continued to affect me years after the fact, is the one in my hair. Not on my scalp, in my hair.

I know, I know. It's physically impossible to have a scar in my hair. All it takes is a good cut and whatever blemish I've found in my hair is gone for good. But I am a fan of doing the impossible.

In order for you to understand my biggest scar, I need to explain my theory about useless information. So here goes.

Useless Information - There sure are a lot of people in this world and they all like to have thoughts and ideas and beliefs. What's more, they like to share those thoughts. If they're really good, they try to teach you and convert you to their way of thinking. I guess it's just the human thing to do. Partly because when we love something we want to share it with as many people as we can, and partly because we want validation in what be believe, and maybe partly because we believe in the "universal right". The idea that in some situations there is an absolute right and an absolute wrong. 

Which is why my disclaimer at the beginning was so important because I am about to try and convince you to think the way I do. I'm going to try and sell you on a "fact" even though I already pointed out that what I'm saying today could not be proven as absolute truth which means it's really just my opinion, and as my old boss likes to say, "Everyone has an opinion and they all stink." So don't let me win you over. Pretend everything I say is useless information unless you really, truly decide (for yourself, without pressure from me) that you think I'm right. 

Because, all that human sharing of thoughts and ideas is primarily the sharing of useless information. Useless opinions and perspectives that should have no bearing on who you are or how you live your life. Alas, all too often we take those opinions as fact, and that useless information becomes a guiding principle, a lifeline. It becomes ingrained inside us, changing us, scarring us without us even knowing it. It happens to the best of us. It happened to me (which is my way of saying that I am the best of us. Don't worry, I'm well aware I have a big ego). 

I was really young when I got captured by useless information. What information did I absorb? Someone, somewhere, somehow told me that men prefer women with long hair. Maybe I read it in a book, maybe someone mentioned it. My mom had really long hair in her official wedding photo that has hung on the wall since I was tiny. I guess I took that as proof that the information was correct and I grew up unwilling to cut my hair too short for fear that eventually the perfect guy wouldn't want to go on a first date with me because my hair wasn't long enough. It's a really dumb fear, I know, but I never said anything about me being smart. 

I actually didn't realize I'd adopted this belief until I met a guy I wanted to date. He asked me out, I said yes. We went out for about a month. Sometime near the end of our relationship I mentioned something about wanting to cut my hair short for fun. He said, while stroking said hair, "Don't cut your hair. It's so beautiful." A week later, he broke up with me. Two weeks later I cut my hair to my shoulders. And for the last 2.5 years I have not been able to grow my hair out longer than just past my shoulders. Every time it gets close to breaking that shoulder mark I'll look in the mirror for a really long time trying to convince myself to keep letting it grow. The very thought makes me feel sick and I'll spin around and find my scissors, even cutting my own hair if necessary in order to keep it short. 

It took forever, but I finally figured out why I couldn't let my hair grow. It was because for the longest time I tried to be the perfect person for that perfect guy I was convinced I would eventually find. And, since guys like long hair more than short, I kept my hair long. Then I met a guy I thought liked me for me except that when the real me wanted to cut my hair he told me not to right before breaking up with me and telling me I was his rebound girl. After that I decided to stop believing that guys like girls with long hair better. After all, if he really is the perfect guy, he'll like me with short hair too, right? Right...? But how am I supposed to know if he'll actually be okay with an Esther with short hair unless he meets me when I have short hair? And the only way to be sure he'll meet me with short hair is to keep my hair short until I meet him.

Hence, why I still can't seem to get my hair past my shoulders. Despite wanting hair long enough to braid with ribbons, curl, or put up in a chignon. I just can't let it grow. Because that useless information about how I'm supposed to look, or what makes me attractive, has scarred me. Affected me. Stifled me. The length of my hair is a constant reminder that I wasn't good enough. That I wasn't wanted. 

To you, the reader, this situation likely seems a little ridiculous. It's a lot ridiculous. Unfortunately, ridiculous or not, that scar held me hostage for a very long time. Which made me wonder how long a not-ridiculous piece of useless information might hold someone captive. If a child is told at a young age that they'll never amount to anything (a piece of useless information if I ever heard one), how long will that stop them from moving forward to try something? If a family member makes you feel like you're not lovable how long will that scar prevent you from receiving love? If your scarred and scrapbooked body (mind, soul, spirit, etc.) is teased, ridiculed, dismissed, or rejected, how long will it take for you to stop trying to hide the scars, remove the scars, or reduce the scars and realize that you never stopped being beautiful? 

Months? Years? A lifetime?

A lifetime of feeling stuck and worthless because of useless information. What a heartbreaking thought. 

Don't let that be your story. Whatever words of "wisdom" you were "taught," take the time to analyze them. Think about them. Consider them. Are they really true? Are the opinions, the beliefs, and the values that others tried to instill in you, actually valuable to you, or are they useless information? Don't take anything someone else says for granted. Search it out. Ponder it. Think critically. Don't get caught by useless information.

And if you do, because we all do and we will, no matter how hard we try, just remember that all the scars are proof that you're living your life. Those scars are a scrapbook filled with the life lessons, the beautiful moments, the poignant memories that make your life a story worth telling. A story worth living.

Is that beautiful? I say 'yes'. How about you? 

P.S. This is the most recent photograph that I have of myself, and yes, my hair is longer than shoulder length. Finally. :)