Wishes

by Julianne Redmond

Growing up, my mother used to always warn, “Be careful what you wish for,” no matter the circumstance, place, event, or time. You could be completely broke and wish to win the lottery or stranded on a lifeboat in the middle of the ocean wishing for a rescue boat and my mother would be there telling you to be careful what you wish for. I never paid much mind to her warning. I’d look at my frizzy waves that couldn’t decide if they were straight or curly and I’d wish for smooth, sleek, straight hair, laughing as she shook her head at me in the mirror. I’d even sit at the dining room table, brewing with jealousy watching my brother breeze through his homework; meanwhile, I was struggling to finish my first assignment. My mother would advise me to focus on what I was doing and think about the progress I was making, but I’d pay no mind as I continued to wish I was finished with my never-ending schoolwork.

Sitting in my middle school Spanish class, I drum my pencil against my desk nervously. I had studied endlessly for this test and I could not afford a B if I was going to make the distinguished honor roll this marking period. My eyes diligently follow the teacher as she bounces around the classroom from student to student handing back tests. I notice how she praises some students, placing the test face up, and others she simply smiles at, placing the test face down on their desk. I cross my fingers behind my back and smile at her as she approaches. She smiles back politely and places my test face down on my desk. My smile drops and I stare at the paper, not wanting to touch it. I cautiously lift the edge of the test to see a D written in red ink at the top. I pull my hand back as if the paper has burned me. After so much time spent studying for this test, I couldn’t believe I still got a bad grade, and now I was doomed to only make the honor roll for this marking period. Though making the honor roll was still a good achievement, it seemed like a failure knowing that I was only one test grade away from making the distinguished honor roll, which was the highest achievement you could get. A few seats down from me, my best friend askes me what I got, proudly showing off her A. I shoot a tight smile back at her and tell her I got a B. That was the first time I ever wished to be someone I was not.

As I grew older, more mature, my wishes did too. Though I once wished for simplicities such as straight hair or takeout for dinner, I started to realize that I did not fit the standards of what society deemed to be perfect. I began to wish for things I thought and hoped would benefit me and make me more “perfect.” After researching the job field I wanted to go into and trying to figure out the best way to get hired, I found a survey from the Society for Human Resource Management that claimed 20% of employers used personality tests as part of their hiring process. I immediately began re-evaluating each of my personality traits. Introverted, nitpicky, respectful, friendly. All fine and good except that most employers were more interested in candidates that were extroverted and had good communication skills, or if you were flexible, and how good your problem-solving skills were. All things that I happened to need more work on. Not only did I find myself wishing away my personality for this cookie-cutter corporate one, but I also found myself wishing away my appearance too.

It is said to be more attractive for women to have a thin nose and full lips. This gives off the illusion of a more symmetrical face, which has been proven to be considered more attractive than an asymmetrical face. I wished for the perfect hair and skin complexion. Not too dark like my mother always was but not too pale and powdery as my dad, and never rosy like my skin was always determined to be. I found myself even wishing for obscure things like freckles and green eyes. Green eyes are the least common eye color on earth, so having freckles and green eyes would make me unique. Society constantly screams at us to be like everyone else while somehow still maintaining our uniqueness because it makes us prettier. For years and years, I stood looking at myself in the mirror and wishing to look like anything except what I saw staring back at me. My bland brown eyes bore into me expectantly as I examined my rosy cheeks and eyebrows that needed to be plucked again. Just waiting for the stamp of approval so that I could venture out. It took me hours to get ready to go anywhere. After contouring my face to look like a completely different human and painting my lips pink or bright red, I’d check in the mirror again. Only when my face was pale with no signs of redness and my eyebrows looked like plastic, so much so that you would barely notice that my eyes are brown and not blue or green, would I be ready to go. Then I would attempt to tackle the outfit. I would try on skirts, dresses, and jeans with cute sweaters. Changing several times was a routine at this point, always asking my sister if this and that looked okay. She would always say they did, but I never saw what she saw, so I would inevitably change again.

After successfully deciding every aspect of myself that made me myself was simply not good enough, or not right, I began noticing that some people carry themselves with a sense of contentment and confidence and I wondered how this could be. As I went along with my daily life, I started to notice people that maybe I wouldn't have noticed before. The girl with the peacock-colored hair, chatting away with her friend happily. The teenage guy who rolled by on a skateboard with a whole sleeve of tattoos looking beyond sick if I’m being honest. Even some that scared me slightly, like the guy whose face was made entirely of piercings. But they were all happy and content with themselves. Even one of my best friends, though she has brown straight hair, brown eyes, and pale skin, which isn’t what society tells us is “uniquely beautiful,” is beautiful in the most important ways; inside and out. Not to mention she has confidence sharp enough to slice steel. I wanted to find that for myself. I noticed that even though these people were not necessarily what society deems as the “perfect person,” they carry themselves as if they are. And that fact in itself made them the “perfect person.” I started looking for ways to be content and confident in myself, and only then did I understand the true meaning behind my mother’s warning.

Throughout my whole life, I wished for things to make me “perfect,” to make me “complete,” and I never noticed that I was just wishing for band-aids. The things I wished for were mere cover-ups and they could not provide what I was truly seeking. Straight hair and golden tanned skin couldn’t make me feel worthy. A corporate personality, while it may land me a job, would not make me feel content with my life. I wasted wishes that could not buy what I was looking for. Wishes that only made me more insecure as I longed for things I could not have, trying to become someone I was not. The bottom line is, the things I so desperately tried to wish away were the things that made me, me, and if I had been successful in my attempts, I would have been left with nothing. When I picture my future now, I am beyond pleased with what I see.

I place the last dish on the table before instructing everyone to give thanks before eating. My three children sit sporadically around the table, my husband across from me. He separates the boys, who would likely start a food fight if they could. After grace, the food begins to be passed around so everyone can get their fill. I smile at the ease of everything. Finally happy and content with myself. To my right, I notice my daughter barely filling her plate and staring contemplatively at her food. I ask her what is wrong and if she doesn’t like what I have made. She responds that the food is fine, she just wishes she were skinnier. I smile to myself knowing that my time to shine has come and I tell her to be careful what she wishes for, assuring her she is already beautifully perfect in her own ways. I will always steer her in the right direction, though I will not tell her exactly what this warning means, just as my mother did for me. That is a lesson far more powerfully learned if a girl learns it for herself.

Julianne Redmond is a freshman psychology major with a minor in sport and exercise psychology. She is also involved on the school’s swim team.