On being an impostor.

When I was in college, I worked at a bookstore, and occasionally customers would say, “You have the most beautiful skin.” I would look away, embarrassed, feeling like an impostor, knowing that I couldn’t confess that my skin was all thanks to a round of Accutaine. Not knowing what to say. After such a response, one lady looked at me and smiled knowingly, saying, “It wasn’t always that way, was it?” I was relieved that she knew my secret.

I’m feeling a little bit like an impostor today, too. Maybe that’s because I’ve always been “the girl with the big glasses” and . . . I’m suddenly not. (I guess I could be “the girl with the lens implants,” but . . . everybody is already freaked out by my bionic eyes, so I’d really like not to draw more attention to them.) Last night I got ready for bed and then stood there, looking at . . . seeing myself in the mirror, feeling the need to take out my contacts, but having no contacts to take out. I got in bed and actually reached for my glasses to take them off. I glanced over at Mike to see if he’d noticed what I’d done, trying to play it cool, and then I started laughing. “Did you see that?” I said.

“No. Did you try to take off your glasses?” And then we laughed together. But I still felt a little lost. A little like crying. They’re happy tears, but it’s still a strange new reality, to have the crutch I’ve depended on for as long as I can remember just be . . . unnecessary. It’s a miracle, a 21st-century miracle, sure, but a miracle nonetheless.

This time around was a different experience than the first – there were fewer nurses, I had to wait a little longer, and I wasn’t nearly as unconscious. I’ve had a little more pain this time, but I wasn’t as nauseated or woozy, though I did take a four-hour nap on Friday. And I’m actually seeing a little better on this eye than I did on the first at this point.

It’s just . . . strange. That’s all there is to it. Strange, but in the best kind of way.

No Trackbacks