I'm the thing that warps time long enough...

It was 1970, I had been sitting on the bottom shelf of the magazine section in the dime store for at least an hour. Thankfully they hadn't asked me to leave. They never did. I was 13 and showed up every Friday after school with my allowance and did the same thing. Bought a chick magazine. I stood up switched magazines and curled up again on the bottom shelf to get transported into Vogue's version of never-never land. Dreamy. Yes, and it took a lot of time valuing the pages to finally decide which magazine should be brought home and later completely disected.

All that prettiness and shine and glossy hair and sleekness was going to manifest itself in me. Somehow.  My teenage flat-chested body was convinced I'd learn how to get my boobs to grow and my feet to stop. Heck, I was running out of time and very worried my body had things backwards. At 13 this was just about the most important thing in my life. At least until I thought about the store owner's son coming down the isle.

(Ha, no I didn't photograph Anna Nicole Smith for this Guess ad, but it WAS memorable, and unfortunately I don't know who did). 

It's complicated and I can't remember whether I was hopelessly attracted or revolted. but I do remember, clearly, the crackle from his arm brushing across the top of my head as he walked too close down my isle. My hair had been singed, it was electric. I was certain of it. He may have been flirting but I was mortified. Or maybe it was livid. Exact feelings were too difficult to decipher at that age. But, what had just happened?  Could he see the girl I was caught deep inside my own head?  I felt vulnerable and transparent and self-conscious. Surely he saw the desperation I felt studying the models in the pictures. I was so busy wanting to be the pretty girl who was flirting with the boy on the glossy pages that I didn't notice I already was.  And...

The proof was still tingling on my head.

Yet, like any proper teenager I was horrified especially after I quickly looked away and then down.  And there it was.  Neatly aligned.  My unbreastesses and then my feet right below them. I needed to go home immediately and look in the mirror quick to see if I could see what he saw, surely he didn't notice my, well, feet? 

(This is Morgan, adorable, young and full of laughter.) 

Funny how often this pattern of wanting what I already had would be repeated through my life and how often I couldn't see it.  Looking back at how often I missed myself trying to catch up to who I wanted to be and who I was and then later find out that it already happened and I missed the fullness of the moment. How many women miss the fullness of their moment?

Today, I can show a woman her beauty by photographing her.  Later, when she's stammering amazed at herself. Proud. The promise in her heart, that she is beautiful. Her visible confusion whether it's ok to be giddy loving herself or be ashamed is all the confirmation I need. That's when I'm content. I'm the thing that warps time long enough to let the girl catch up with herself. I let her look back over time and reveal the amazing beauty she has right NOW. I distract her long enough during the shoot to let her magical self emerge and then capture her.

Once those photos are taken home and studied she senses the preciousness and rapidly changing life she lives. She knows instinctively that no matter what tomorrow brings she relished today and has proof of it. Promises are made to be more self-aware and in her moment.


P.S.  Yes, my feet stopped growing.  And that other thing?  Yeah, that happened, they grew. The boy? I don't recall but I bet I wasn't the only fire he set.