Backstory 12: Accidental transformation in Santa Fe

My journey and transformation when it comes to love is about as worn as the stickers on my water bottle...but my journey also makes for entertaining stories that's for sure.

Transformation really can come in and scoop you up at any time, and at any age, which I feel is a law of being human. And said transformation usually begins in an ordinary moment, but it just takes new eyes and a curious attitude to be open enough for transformation to unfold.

And this story of transformation takes place over Christmas vacation in 1991, when I was spending the holiday in Santa Fe, New Mexico with my family and extended family from my dad’s side. This trip was a ski vacation for those of us who skied, an art vacation for those who enjoyed art and a do nothing but puzzles and play backgammon vacation for those who loved those sorts of things.

The trip really was an opportunity for everyone to find some peace, pleasure and/or connection in some form, which we as a family were all seeking, though we didn’t say it out loud. My father had one older sister, one younger sister, and 1 younger brother, and they were all there together with their children, who were all around the same age as my older sister, myself and my little brother. And of course the king and queen of the family were there; none other than my grandparents, Jonathan and Gammy, who was the glue of our family.

We rented a large house in the middle of Santa Fe off of the Main Street that also had a few small studio cabins on the property, so there was plenty of room for our large group to be together and to also have some privacy. I was 14 at the time, and sharing a cabin with my 15 year old cousin, who I’d grown up playing with, and we also went to the same private all girls school in Dallas where she was a freshman and I was in 8th grade. She and I used to be very close growing up, because both of our parents would drop us off at our grandparents house in Dallas several times per week, so we loved exploring and getting into trouble together. We’d open every drawer and closet in the house, explore every inch outside the house and we’d set off with backpacks full of snacks to go exploring around the neighborhood; which in hindsight I see wasn’t very safe. But that was a different time. We’d watch movies together on the giant old television that had antennas resembling rabbit ears, and we’d perch ourselves in the two side by side giant dark green leather reclining chairs in my grandparents living room, and sit for hours eating chips and Blue Bell ice cream from the big ice cream bins my grandmother would buy. We’d sometimes share what we’d learned about our bodies, in a “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours” kind of way, which was fun and fascinating until it got awkward as we got older and more private. 

When we were around 7 years old, my adventurous cousin and I realized that if we pressed our pelvis area up against the jets in our grandparents' outdoor jacuzzi for long enough, we could experience a rapturous tingly feeling between our legs, later understood as an orgasm. So I’ll forever thank my cousin for sharing in that moment of discovering unexpected pleasure at an early age.

But as we got older, my grandfather got sick with various ailments, and so my siblings and I began to spend less of our weekday afternoons and weekends at my grandparents house, and we’d only spend Christmas morning or maybe Easter there together, so my cousin and I seamlessly shifted our correspondence with each other to being somewhat distant but still polite, without there needing to be a conversation about us growing apart.

My cousin and I had grown up going to separate schools from kindergarten to 6th grade, so we’d usually just see each other at my grandparent’s house, the family lake house once or twice a month or at family parties. But when I entered the 7th grade and began attending the same all girls school as her called Hockaday, we were all of a sudden walking the same hallway, though she was a year older. But what was odd, is that my cousin wouldn’t acknowledge me much at school, and that was so confusing for me because I remembered how close we were growing up and all the adventures we’d had exploring the world together. But I followed her lead at school and ended up being more or less just another face she’d pass in the school hallway.

So that 1991 Christmas vacation in Santa Fe when I found myself sharing a private cabin with my cousin for several days, I was both excited and nervous, because she felt like a long lost friend that I wanted to get to know again.

We were in 1 room with twin beds, so we were forced to talk, and we ended up sharing a lot. At night after the family would go to sleep, my cousin and I would talk about life and what we’d seen or experienced with people, and with boys, which for me wasn’t particularly much. At that point I’d experienced a few late night golf course make out sessions with guys from a public school Highland Park, which was near my grandparent’s house, but that only happened when I’d sleep over at my best friend's house. My cousin was surprised by my lack of experience, because my sister from a young age always seemed to have a boyfriend, but not me. 

My sister was 4 years older than me in school, and she was popular, athletic, smart, pretty, had perfect tan skin, straight white teeth and a fashionable wardrobe. Yes, a long list of positives. I idolized my sister for a lot of the above reasons but I never let her know that, so we remained somewhat distant, though we lived under the same roof down the long hallway from each other. I always thought she was embarrassed by me and that she thought I wasn’t pretty or smart enough to hang out with her. But when I shared these feelings about my sister with my cousin there in Santa Fe that Christmas break, she said something that changed my world.

In a very matter of fact voice, as we were both washing our faces getting ready for bed, she turned to me and said, "you do know you’re also pretty, right?"  And I stood there staring at her dumbfounded. It was not only the first time in my life I’d heard someone call me pretty, but it was also the first time I’d heard feedback about my appearance that wasn’t someone making fun of my ears that stick out, my big front teeth, my big nose or my face that got red easily and had marks on it that were a combo of freckles and small pimples. "Pretty" was the last word I would use to describe my appearance, so it was confusing to hear. But I listened to my cousin, asked her to say the words again, and I stood there next to her staring at myself in the cabina bathroom mirror, trying to adjust my brain to believe that I might be considered by the outside world to be pretty. Because I certainly didn’t think of myself in that way, at all. 

But I remember my cousin patting me on the shoulder as we both looked in the mirror and saying, “you ARE pretty…” and then we went to bed in the twin beds next to each other, and that was that.  And I slept differently that night, more at ease; almost like I had a new golden ticket to enter my own life. 

And I woke up different; it was like I now had access to new energy that felt different and fresh, and I began to move about my day there in Santa Fe on Christmas vacation a little differently.  This 14 year old me had a new skip in her step that felt exciting. My cousin’s words were sinking deeper into my skin and it was like I felt prettier each time I heard her voice in my head filling my belief bucket.

That morning that I woke up feeling different was our family’s last day full day in Santa Fe. Some of my family spent it playing cards and doing puzzles at the house and some went shopping. But I chose to go skiing one last time by myself. I had 1 last punch on my multi day ski punch card that I didn’t want to waste, so I loaded up my ski gear, got dressed and walked to the ski lift, which wasn’t far away. I was feeling emboldened by this solo adventure and I appreciated the trust and freedom my family has given me, and I made sure they knew where they could find me. I’d never skied alone before and it felt so liberating, and a bit daring. And I ended up skiing so well that day that I wished someone was with me to witness that I was skiing the best I ever had. Could it be my new confidence thanks to my cousin's words helping me ski better? I didn’t know; I just enjoyed it.

I skied for about 3 hours, and on my second to last ski run for the day, I entered the singles lift line behind a guy, and the lift operator directed us to ride together on the cozy small chair lift for 2. So while we were still in line, the guy in front of me moved to the side a little in order to create space for me to ski up and stand next to him, and he took off his goggles and glanced at me and smiled and nodded for me to come forward to join him. Wow, he was so handsome, and I immediately felt a warmth in my cold exposed cheeks. Holy shit I was blushing in the ski line! He looked a few years older than me, and I took off my ski goggles and turned my head his way and shyly smiled, as I moved forward in line to be next to him. We stayed side to side for the next 2-4 minutes as we approached the boarding area for the lift, and then we were carried away together into the air for 8-9 minutes of ski lift bliss. He talked to me first, and introduced himself as Chris Smith and he was a junior at a co-ed high school just 10 minutes away from my school in Dallas! What are the odds?! We talked lightheartedly for the length of the chair lift ride, and when we exited, he asked where I was headed and I said I didn’t have a plan but I had time for about 2 more runs. And then he unexpectedly invited me to join him for 2 runs. And I accepted, hoping my skiing skills would stay with me, which thankfully they did. I was a good skier and I could tell Chris loved that, so by the end of our second run when we got to the bottom, he asked for 1 more run. I was exhausted and my legs were shaking, but I tried to play it off like I was fine, and accepted his invite for a last run. I was so tired at the end of the run I pretty much sat down on my skis as I coasted towards him at the bottom, and I sat on the snow looking up at him when I came to a stop. He glided over to me smiling, also sat down on the snow and asked for my phone number, and if I’d like to go out sometime when we’re home in Dallas.

 I couldn’t believe it. 

Did I just get asked out on a date in Santa Fe for when we returned to Dallas by a hot older guy from a different school? Yes. I practically screamed in excitement and watched Chris write my home number down on a piece of paper and shove it into his pocket. And then he skied away, because he needed to catch the bus back to his family’s condo. My world had changed. I met a guy and felt desired by someone, which was a new concept for me. Was this because I felt pretty? Maybe. So I hoped the feeling would last. I’d just attracted the attention of a handsome man from my hometown town out of nowhere, so I felt like I was returning to Dallas as a transformed woman. I had a journal that I wrote my most private thoughts in, so when I got back to our casita that night I began to write Chris’s name all over the pages with big hearts and arrows through them. He’d struck something in me that’s for sure. Was he going to be my guy? Was this my romantic story of how I met my husband? While on a family ski trip? I loved it and told my cousin the exciting news when I got back. And she was thrilled, but also not surprised. “See?” She said, “I told you you were pretty…which translated to me as, “Harriet, I see you, and you’re enough.”

Sigh, ok. Thank you so much to my cousin for offering me this new belief about myself. I didn’t say that to her of course, but I felt it.

After we returned to Dallas, my vacation crush Chris called our house two days later and invited me out for ice cream. I practically yelled yes into the phone receiver and began to draw more hearts with his name in my journal, as well as “Chris + Harriet = love. I told him where I lived, feeling proud to say we were in a fancy neighborhood, and we arranged a time he would pick me up for our date. I was ready 30 minutes before he said he’d arrive because I was so nervous and elated about my first ever date. Chris pulled up right on time and he drove a large tan and maroon Ford Bronco that had a few school stickers on the back bumper. He came to the front entrance of our house and rang the doorbell, which makes a sound that’s annoyingly long considering I was standing right on the other side of the large door impatiently waiting for the doorbell to finish announcing him. Of course I knew he was there, because I’d been waiting in the dining room, so I didn’t need the doorbell, geez. But when the doorbell completed its multi tone 20 second ring, I finally could open the door, and I felt a rush of energy through my body and I practically fainted forward into his arms in what became a hug. Thankfully he took this almost awkward greeting perfectly; and he hugged me back, and even added a little spin.

We were in love: or something like it. Or at least I wanted it to be love. Chris took me to a nearby diner where we both had an ice cream sundae, despite it being chilly outside still; and we had an awesome time talking about life, our dreams, about what he wanted to do when he got out of high school and what colleges he was applying to. I listened intently, and hung on his every word, because I could watch his face forever. He didn’t ask my age or grade, so my guess is that he just assumed I was also in high school; but in fact, I was just in 8th grade. At the end of our date, when he drove me home, he asked me to wait when he stopped his car, and then he walked over to my side to let me out. It was the most romantic thing I’d ever experienced. Once out of the car, he leaned me up against the side of his Bronco and gently kissed me with an open mouth and I felt his tongue go inside my mouth, which was so weird, new and mesmerizing. It was the most perfect kiss I could have ever imagined, but what made it better was that we liked each other and had a budding relationship. From the look on his face, I could tell Chris also enjoyed our kiss, because he came in for another shorter one. And then we hugged goodbye and he told me he’d call me soon to arrange our next hangout, and he walked me to our side entrance. He said not to expect to see him next week because he had a lot of exams to prepare for, and I appreciated the heads up. And then he walked away, got into his Bronco and drove away. 

And I was officially obsessed with him.

And sure, I wish I could say that Chris and I went on to have a wonderful romantic relationship that lasted several weeks or months, but that’s not what happened. In fact, our relationship only lasted a few more days after that because it came to an abrupt halt, because of me. Ugh.

It was just another Wednesday school night at our house which meant not much was happening other than homework, watching tv or playing Nintendo. I usually got to bed around 9:00 and it was around 730, so I’d started my rituals of closing out the day, by finishing homework and preparing for bed. But on this particular Wednesday evening, I decided to engage in a habit I wasn’t proud of, which was to stare at myself closely in my bathroom mirror and pop every single pimple I could see or touch on my face. This warfare on my skin began several years earlier and the popping often aggravated other areas of my skin that otherwise would not have pimples. But I have to admit that it always gave me great pleasure to hear and feel the sound of the pop of my pimples against my bathroom mirror.

Pop and splat….ewww. It was so fun.

So on this unassuming Wednesday night as I completed my popping and stepped back away from the bathroom mirror to admire the work I’d just done on my face, I saw that my face was swollen and in some places was a little crusty from pus. But it didn’t matter because it was bedtime for me, and my face would be fine by the morning. But then I heard our front doorbell ring and I froze; who on earth would be stopping by our house this late on a school night? And I wondered if everyone was okay. A moment later my dad’s voice came over the intercom and told me I had two gentleman guests, and that he’d be escorting them into the library where I could meet them. He seemed to love that they were there to visit me, and he even suggested that I emerge into the library via our secret staircase.

The secret staircase was by far the best part of our house and it was a spiral staircase that started across the hall from my bedroom and came out in the library by the grand piano. But the coolest part was that you didn’t see the staircase until a large piece of the bookcase opened, revealing the hidden staircase. Sure it would have been fun to make a grand entrance through the secret staircase to greet my unknown visitors, but here I was with a swollen face, that was now covered with red spots where I’d just freed about 20 pimples. What do I do?!

I felt paralyzed and stood in my bath room staring at myself for what felt like way too long, willing my pimples to go away. The library was enormous with tall vaulted ceilings, and had a little opening with a railing right outside my bedroom door, that I could peek out of, and so I did. And down below me waiting patiently on the couch was Chris Smith and one of his friends. And to make matters worse, they heard the movement upstairs, because Chris looked right up at me and waved. And the only thing I could do was wave back and say I’d be down in a moment.

Shit. 

I looked at myself in the mirror, completely horrified by what I’d created on my face and I rummaged through my bathroom drawer and found some concealer and began to quickly cover my whole face in it, which I knew made me look even worse. But I didn’t know what else to do. I couldn’t walk downstairs with a swollen and red splotchy face and say, “hey, thanks for stopping by, and by the way I just popped 20 pimples, so that’s why my face looks like this.” Nope, instead I came through the secret staircase, turned the dimmer of the library lights down to their lowest setting, and greeted them without a hug or handshake and instead went to the couch farthest away from them and awkwardly sat there trying to look normal and seem relaxed and glad they were there, when I wasn’t at all.

It was so awful.

And though Chris didn’t exactly know why, he could feel my discomfort, and soon he made an excuse why they needed to leave and he came over a little closer for...a hug or maybe a kiss? But he got as close as I’d let him, and said, “are you okay? Have you been crying? Your face is red.” And I nodded yes that I’d been crying, but I didn’t offer up anything else, and dodged eye contact. I was also doing anything I possibly could to let him look at me long enough to see my skin. The tension in the room was thick; and I could tell they wanted to leave as much as I wanted them to, though our reasons were different. Once I got them out the door and got the front door closed, my whole body sighed in relief, and I really did begin to cry. I then went straight upstairs, washed all the makeup off my face and just stared at myself in disbelief at the reality and mess I’d just created. Chris Smith never returned my calls after that night and definitely didn’t randomly stop by again, so that was that. I let my parents know that in the future, I don’t accept visitors past 7pm, and I vowed to myself to never start any work on my face before that time. Did I still feel pretty after that night?  Not one bit. Mostly because I was so embarrassed and ashamed at what had happened. But slowly I moved on in my journal and crossed out Chris’s name with all the hearts, and reminded myself what had helped me meet and connect with him in the first place. It was my cousin’s nourishing words and me feeling pretty and confident after hearing them. And so I began to tell myself more often when I looked in the mirror that I was pretty, regardless of how my skin looked. Because no one else around me was telling me that. And I hoped that maybe someday I’d see Chris Smith again, when my skin looked amazing. But alas no, that never happened, as we moved to Park City Utah the next year.

But did Chris ever think about that night? Who knows. It certainly lives on in my memory as a squirmy uncomfortable night that although I wish never happened, it certainly taught me some lessons.

But you know what else I do my best to remember? The memory of my cousin's unexpected compliment, the synchronicity of meeting Chris in Santa Fe, of skiing together so well that my legs trembled, of getting ice cream, and that kiss. 

So I’ll keep practicing to remember those memories and feelings, as an effort to retrain my brain for more of that.

And special thanks to my skin, for being the star player in this and many more stories, and inevitably being one of the reasons I opened up my own day spa. I wanted a safe space where people like me could come and seek help, and feel loved, and appreciated. And though I've passed on the ownership of Align Spa to two trusted friends who had worked with me for almost 20 years, I will always be that spa's biggest fan for their assistance in helping me care for my skin.

I certainly have more skin and life stories to share that compete with this one. Because loving and accepting the skin and body ’m in has been a journey. 

So onward we go.