A Lesson in Humility

One of my biggest challenges in life has always been learning to laugh at myself. Not just giggle at my own jokes, or that sheepish smile when I invariably trip over my own feet. No, I need to learn to really laugh at my own ridiculousness. It's an ongoing process.
This last week was a pretty good step in that direction. I'm on vacation this week, enjoying doing not much of anything, so going out can be an adventure in trying new clothes and makeup, etc. with all the free time I have. And going out I have been doing plenty of. One night in particular, I got all gussied up in my new bright blue skinny jeans, a brand new sparkly white top, and my smoking hot knee high boots to go to an art gallery opening. Mind you, I've never worn any of these things out of my house, much less on the subway or any other public place. They seem great to me, but what do I know when I only see glimpses in my little mirrors? But I put on a little extra makeup, wore my nice fuzzy black jacket, and hoped I was looking moderately presentable at least.
As I got on the subway to head into Manhattan, I caught a couple of people look my way and thought "wow, must be looking ok tonight". No complaints about a little attention, right? But then a few more people looked my way, most of them smiling, and I started to get a little nervous. And then this stunningly gorgeous twenty-something blonde girl got on the subway across from me, blatantly eyed me up and down, and giggled a little as she made eye contact with me. She proceeded to then watch me out of the corner of her eye for the rest of the ride with a subtle smile on her face the whole time. Now, I have no complaints about being checked out, especially not by beautiful women, but at this point there are so many people looking over at me and smiling that all I can think is that somehow I've gotten something all over my face or my hair is standing straight up or my pants are blindingly bright blue, and they're all sharing a joke at my expense. So the rest of my ride was miserable, as I invented every possible bad reason people were laughing at me. So much for feeling pretty!
I finally made it to the gallery and met up with my friend, feeling ridiculous and out of sorts. And she just smiled at me, gave me a hug, and didn't point out the enormous black smudge on my face, or the horns growing out of my head, or the "kick me" sign on my back. Because there was none of those things. Turns out, I really did just look good.
I relate this not to stroke my own ego, but to finally get a good laugh at myself over the whole thing. I worked myself into such a dither about what could possibly be wrong with me that people were looking at me and smiling that I was tempted to curl in a ball and hide rather than face the ridicule! Only to find out that I'm the only one who took myself so seriously.
Moral of this story: sometimes you just have to believe that you knew what you were doing when you left the house, so don't let other people or your own silly insecurities change your mind.