What If I’m Too Tall
When I was 15, a friend of mine told me that short brunettes are always prettier than tall blondes. As a lanky tall blonde with the telltale body image issues that all teenage girls seem to face, those words stung. Today, I know that the words and opinion of one teenager have no weight on me or my life. At the time, though, they latched onto my insecurity and burrowed deep into my soul. What if I’m too tall? Eventually rocking the height of 5’7, I lingered on this question longer than I’d like to admit. For years every pair of pants that was too short (which was every pair) reminded me of this fear. Throughout the years I fought this worry. I wore heels like a boss and embraced fashions that highlighted my long legs. Ultimately, though, it was falling in love with a man a couple of inches shorter than me that taught me to love my height, and, in doing so, understand something unique about how love changes us and those we love.
Photo: Nathaniel Brown
I didn’t realize that I was developing feelings for the man who would become my husband until I was halfway in love with him already. I had my eyes set on moving to NYC, complete with notebooks filled with planned out timelines and contacts to network for potential housing and jobs. Before I could buy my Amtrack ticket, though, Austin’s brilliant mind and generous heart became the shape of my hopes and dreams. As I grappled with my own feelings, realizing how they changed forever what I wanted from life, I also had to face the accompanying fears. What if I was misreading him? What if he doesn’t feel the same way? What if I’m too tall? It was to this last question that I always found myself returning. What if I’m too tall?
As it turns out, I wasn’t too tall. A matter of weeks after realizing my feelings, Austin asked me out to coffee and the rest is history. Interestingly, I never questioned if he, at 5’5, was too short. Because to me, Austin was - and still is - perfect. I love all that he is. Over the time I’ve been with Austin, particularly the last nine months we’ve spent as husband and wife, I’ve realized something about how love influences how we see those we love. Love becomes the lens through which we see each other, perceiving a whole, full picture of the other. It’s not that we don’t see our short comings, but rather that we see beyond them.
“This is one of the miracles of love, it gives a power to see through its enchantments and yet not being disenchanted.”
Photo: Ben Carlson Photography
In his reflection on the death of his wife and love of this life, C. S. Lewis reflects on this strange paradoxical element of love. He recognizes that through love we have ‘a power to see through its enchantments and yet not being disenchanted.’ Seeing beyond our shortcomings doesn’t mean we aren’t aware of them or ignore them. Rather, through love, those imperfections lose their power over our lives, and we can behold the person for all that they are. For example, I know that Austin has a stubborn streak, but seeing him perfected through the lens of my love for him, that stubbornness is a product of his much more dominant traits of loyalty, confidence, and audacious hope. These flaws no longer define us, but rather become fully integrated into the wholeness of who were are. Austin’s stubbornness and my height are part of each of us, but through our love for each other, these things lose their power over our lives. In being loved fully, we are transformed. My height was never my shortcoming; my fear around it was. But perfect love drives out all fear. In being loved by Austin, that fear is driven out, and my height is part of all that I am, loved by my husband and even by me.
I’ll never forget the first time I knew that Austin thought I was beautiful. He didn’t say anything, but I knew. Three months into our relationship, we spent Easter at his parents house. I came down to the kitchen on Easter morning in my favorite pastel pink crepe dress, where Austin and his mom were chatting over coffee. Austin looked up and stared at me for a full 10 seconds with a mixture of awe and wonder, then smiled and collected himself. Austin still gives me that look, 2 years later. Sometimes its over coffee at the breakfast table, sometimes its when I’ve gotten dressed up for a date night in. Sometimes it’s even first thing in the morning, with acne covering my chin and my hair everywhere. I can see all the love and adoration, and know exactly what he sees in me — because it’s how I see him too. The real challenge, I’ve found, is looking at myself with the same kind of radical love that my husband does, seeing myself through the lens that I see him. And when I try to look at myself the way my husband does, I, too, love all that I am — giraffe legs included.
That all said, I may retire my heels for awhile — my husband’s eyes are just too striking to tower above.
