Smiling used to feel like pulling on a pair of jeans fresh out of the wash. It was physical and occasionally uncomfortable. Necessary for assimilation. Prone to fading. If I went about my day without a smile on my face, I felt naked in the eyes of others. So, putting on a smile came to be as much of a normal part of my routine as getting dressed every morning. I look at pictures of me over the years and I can tell when my smile was genuine and when it was not. Lift corners of mouth, expose teeth, turn on the light switch behind my eyes . . . and hold. My conjured smile was easier than reflecting what was percolating in the depths of my mind. My conjured smile was a shield.
Then, one day, things started to change. The process of smiling began to feel natural (and not, in fact, a process at all). The fit was just right, the fabric felt softer than I remembered, and the desire to flaunt it felt genuine. My smile was no longer a dress-up accessory; it was a reflection of my outlook on life. And life was good. Even when it was hard. Even when it was hazy. Even when I had more questions than answers.
I look at current pictures of me and I love what I see. My face is relaxed. My eyes sparkle with sincerity and joy. I look—and I feel—happy, healthy, alive. That feeling swells tenfold when friends and acquaintances tell me how they’ve noticed the shift in me. The ripple effect of an honest-go-goodness smile is profound.
Happiness is an inside job. The company I keep, the hobbies and activities I tend to, the career I pursue—these are all external influences. Lovely ones, mind you—but the smile on my face these days is illuminated by something much deeper. It’s illuminated by the knowledge and understanding that, ultimately, I am the keeper of the flame.
The smile on my face these days is, first and foremost, for me. And because it comes from a place of authenticity, it is effortless to share.
