Yesterday my youngest daughter and I went to Tulsa, Oklahoma, the closest “big” city, to shop and for me to sit for the first session of my next tattoo.  It was an incredible day with us stumbling upon two unbelievable sales at JC Penney and Ann Taylor Loft.  We came away with 13 items for $68!!!!!  I felt like shopping royalty.  Given that I’ve lost 55 lbs over the past 8 months, a great deal on smaller clothing is just what I needed.

As I was taking clothes on and off in front of the less-than-forgiving dressing room mirrors, I remembered the 45 years I spent completely paranoid that my scalp would be showing when I emerged from the cramped little closet with no way to see the back of my head.  I almost never went shopping without someone else, just so I could come out and have them do a head check, helping me rearrange my hair to cover the evidence of my trichototillomania.  Yesterday, however, I was able to fluff up my crazy curls relatively confident that it looked ok.

That got me thinking, “When people see my pink scalp through my thin, white fluff, I bet they think I’m losing my hair.  When, in stark contrast, I’m actually GROWING more hair.”  That got me thinking even more. How many times do I look at someone and immediately jump to a radically negative assumption about them?

Like that lady over in the smoking area puffing a pack a day, but it used to be TWO packs and next month she’s aiming for 1/2 a pack.

Or the young woman who ballooned up 100 lbs who finally found a medication that relieved her social anxiety symptoms, allowing her to enjoy leaving her house for the first time in months, and couldn’t care less about the added weight as a side effect.

Or the grown man riding a kid’s bicycle on the narrow road’s shoulder who’s so excited, after months of searching, to finally have a job that is within biking distance, so he can start saving up for the adult bike he saw at the pawn shop.

Or the teenaged girl in the back of the church, sitting there half-naked, who stayed up all night after turning tricks just so she could be sure she didn’t miss watching the Church praise Jesus and wants so much to be able to wear more appropriate clothes, but knows her pimp would stop her if she left the apartment in a different outfit.

Or that little kid, running and jumping around in the store, singing loudly while his mom just stands by smiling, because she’s just so dang grateful her son can be free to play, out of that house and away from her abusive husband, but she’s completely overwhelmed and terrified because she doesn’t know where they’re going to sleep tonight.

So, is my head half bald or half hairy?

Is the smoker half dead or half healed?

Is the obese lady half sick or half healthy?

Is the man half destitute or half rich?

Is the teenager half naked or half dressed?

Is the kid half a brat or half a cherub?

It really is all a matter of perspective, isn’t it?  Without knowing someone’s story, how can I form such a quick opinion about them?

The next time I see a person and feel tempted to judge them and base my own self-righteousness on how I compare myself to them, I’m going to try to stop and remind myself, MY HEAD IS HALF HAIRY, and maybe their’s is, too!