Flu Shots + Namaste

On Monday I went to the pharmacy to get my flu shot. This isn't something I usually do, but after everything that's happened with COVID and realizing just how much we all spread germs to one another, I decided to start making it a yearly ritual.

As I waited, an elderly woman with pink hair - also waiting for her flu shot - came up to me and said "You're bee-you-tiful."

She said it just like that; enunciated to a point where I couldn't ignore the word.

I said "Thank you."

After I received my shot I walked out of the pharmacy; I tried to catch the woman's eye as I left but she was turned away from me.

I ran another errand in the same strip mall, and just as I deposited my bags in the car, I was overcome with the feeling to return to the pharmacy. I wanted to thank the woman and tell her she'd made my day; I'd replayed her words over and over in my head as I shopped.

I was bee-you-tiful.

I understand that for anybody who sees me, they might find my wonder and disbelief at this statement to be silly.

The surprise I feel every time someone compliments me is related to my past of course; it's about the pain I'm still in sometimes because of the residual effects of my childhood. The surprise comes from the fact that I'm reminded that although I'm aware of the presence of the ugly mass of scars covering my soul, this is not what the world sees when they look at me.

I'm not always kind to myself.

In fact, at times, I'm downright mean, cruel, punishing.

I've taken on the harshest things my family has said as though they were my own thoughts (we all do this), and sometimes I'm just as mean to myself as they were.

This year - 2021- and specifically this past winter - has been one of the hardest, most psychologically painful of my life because of the amount of growth I've experienced.

I am awakening from that.

I am rebuilding.

I am resuscitating.

I had a conversation to that effect with one of my best friends yesterday. I told her that I know exactly where I am in my life right now and why I'm here; I am where I am, doing what I'm doing because I'm busy rebuilding my broken soul.

And so that woman - an elderly woman with pink hair who had earned her own wisdom through the long life she had already lived - I heard her as a voice speaking from the Universe telling me that everything's going to be alright.

When I had that feeling to go back into the pharmacy, I thought "Maybe that's silly."

I thought "She's probably already left."

But then I thought "Why not try? At least I can try."

So I went back in and she was still sitting there waiting.

I went right up to her and said "I had to come back and tell you that your compliment made my day."

She stood up then and said "Oh did it?"

"Yes, I've been having a hard time and your compliment…"

There was a moment then.

She put her hand on my shoulder and I put mine on hers and we locked eyes. If we weren't in COVID times, we would have hugged.

As it was, she looked at me and said "Well you are you know. Aren't you told that every day?"

"No."

"You're striking."

"Thank you so much."

I turned and started to walk away and she said "Thank you for coming back to tell me."

I turned back and said "It's important you know?"

She said "It is."

As I walked out of the pharmacy, big fat tears started streaming down my cheeks.

I've spent so much of my life feeling invisible, and the Universe in that moment was telling me that I most definitely am not.

If there is a God, moments like this are evidence of His presence; divine connection between two beings. 

Here's my translation of the conversation, from Human-speak to Universe-speak.

Her: "I see you."

Me: "Thank you for seeing me."

Her: "Your thanks lets me know that you see me too."

Me: "I do see you."

It was a moment of Namaste.

Namaste is more than just a yoga cliche; it's a word that has deep meaning: the divine light within me honours and acknowledges the divine light within you.

A moment of connection with a pink-haired messenger sent to remind me of the divine being I am; a being that is bigger than all of this earthly pain I've been carrying around.

It's time to let all that go.

I feel the cracks in my skin; as the image I have of myself starts to change, I'm getting ready to shed my old skin and truly re-invent myself.

It is time.

Now or never.