Haircuts have been something I’ve long avoided. Perhaps my parents still force me to get one every few months, but it’s not exactly an everyday thing. Maybe once in a blue moon. Sitting down idly for a good ten minutes, either on a green stool with my dad outside, or on a heavier chair inside with someone else, never made it remotely near the top of an extensive list of priorities. I couldn’t be bothered by it. I liked my hair longer anyways.

Today I realized, it’s one of the few times where a person is left with nothing but their thoughts, in the presence of someone else. The one who sits has nothing to do, covered by a thin blanket meant to ward off falling clips of hair. But it immobilizes, too. We are forced to make one of three decisions: think to ourselves quietly, talk with our barber, or die of boredom. And it’s also one of the few times that we look into a mirror, not just alone, but with someone else beside us. 

A stranger, in today’s case for me.

I lost myself in my own thoughts for a good length of the haircut. Eventually, a little towards the end, I looked up into the mirror. I saw myself, sure, I was decently familiar with that. But I also saw a certain expression of boredom and an indifferent face—next to someone who was paying detailed attention to that area. I wondered for the older woman who was cutting my hair—who was not fluent in English—who did she see me as? I forced a smile upon my lips as I looked into the mirror. 

I saw a long and ornate piece of paper on the shelf, positioned directly in front of me. Certified Cosmetologist. Cutting and styling people’s hair was her work. Now—was it her pride? I could never know without asking, and I was a quiet person. Ultimately, it ended up bothering me. I was caught debating if it was rude to become so lost in thought while another was so meticulously tending to me. I smiled so that she would know she was doing fine. She just continued to be absorbed in her work.

The haircut finally came to a conclusion when she brought up a mirror behind me, so that I could see the back of head. I nodded and smiled twice, for each side of me: “Yes, this is good.”

We see ourselves in the mirror often. Sometimes, it can breed insecurity, or it can spark boastfulness. But regardless, it is still only us in the frame—limited, alone, looking back with our own thoughts. But today, I looked into the mirror with someone else, and suddenly another perspective joined the picture. I almost felt like an entirely different person, in that present moment. A bit more cautious. And that was when I remembered to smile. 

Because you never know what others see, even if you are participating in something as innocent as quiet, personal contemplation. Wear a bright, brilliant smile, because people pour their souls into the work they do when you’re around them. Volunteers. Teachers. Barbers. Strangers. Mirrors aren’t a good form of reflection—not until somebody else steps in to look at you. It is only then until you realize the importance of vibrance, as passive appreciation for those around you—and in the end, appreciation for yourself.

Next time you look into the mirror—who’s standing beside you?