“Can’t you just bat your eyelashes and say ‘thank you’?”
My friend, Mark’s, gaze met mine, and I felt instantly trapped by his words. Thankfully the lighting at the studio party was dark enough that he wouldn’t see me blush in embarrassment.
I was eighteen years and couldn’t accept a compliment. “You are so beautiful,” he had said softly before his last comment. And, as usual, I replied with self-deprecating remarks such as, “No I’m not beautiful. I have an ugly profile, and my hair is too wiry.” Even as I said those words, I realized how ridiculous I sounded. But, accept a compliment? Me? No way. There were a zillion girls and women in the world who were smokin’ hot. I was plain! A prudent dresser! I had a ready list of reasons why I wasn’t beautiful. And, besides, I didn’t want to seem conceited if I accepted the compliment.
At first I felt incredulous. Bat my eyelashes like a girly-girl? How dare he ask me to do that! Sadly, I couldn’t see that he wasn’t just commenting on how I looked, but he was really seeing all of me, including my personality. Mark was not pretentious in the least, and he had no hidden agendas. He sighed heavily and gazed at me with gentle blue eyes saddened by rejection. His gaze didn’t waver as he waited for my response.
I held his gaze with mine, trying not to blink so as not to bat my eyelashes. But then it sunk in at last. It wasn’t about batting my eyelashes. That’s not what he was asking me to do at all. It was much deeper than that. I could feel it. But, in that moment I had no idea how life changing it would be to honor his request.
I looked up at him and in the awkward but loving silence that had been created I finally mustered up the courage and batted my eyelashes slowly three times. “Thank you,” I said sincerely with a shy smile.
In that moment, my heart was flooded with relief. Mark’s face lit up and he smiled, laughed, and gave me a great big bear hug. “You did it!” he said joyfully, nearly swinging me around in his glee.
Yes, I did it, and I immediately understood what I had done, and how meaningful it was to him. I had given Mark the gift of acknowledgement. His comment about me being beautiful wasn’t about me. It was about him! He was sharing his thoughts about me that, to him, I was beautiful. He wanted me to know how he felt. Countering his compliment with my self-deprecating argument felt like rejection to him; like telling him his perception was wrong and meaningless.
Little did I know that Mark had cancer. Of course, it was just like him to not want to talk about something like that. He would rather spend his time telling people what he loved about them. He passed away a few years later, remembered for his gentleness and sincerity.
I have never forgotten the lesson he taught me about the power of a simple thank you, embellished by the sweet batting of eyelashes.
Thank you, Mark. You are so beautiful, too.
