What do they see when they see me? It's an age-old question, and like anyone else I can only guess at the answer. At 26, I finally realize that you never truly know how people see you until you've had a lot of time and distance separating the view from the beholder, and even then it's hard to see yourself through others' eyes.

For instance, when I was five, friendly, and completely new to the neighborhood, I had closely cropped hair and an intense desire to make friends with the kids next door. I thought they felt the same way about me too, but they chased me back to my front porch, making fun of the way that I looked, calling me names like "boy", and simply breaking my heart with their taunts until I tearfully stood my ground, holding the garden hose threateningly pointed outward to keep them at bay. I never would have guessed that they could say or think such mean things about me.

Looking back on it now I can objectively say that sometimes kids are cruel to those who are different from them, especially when they need to feel superior. However, I failed to see that at the time and vowed that from then on I'd do what I could to fit in.

Yet my experience in junior high and high school was no better. This time I did what I could to be a part of the crowd; I dressed like the in-crowd did, toned down my gregarious, energetic ways, and took regular classes to be with my friends, rather than take the advanced classes that all my teachers kept recommending me... all to no avail. I lost friends to the cool people, the trendy ones so full of studied bitterness and sarcasm, so full of party fervor and a distaste for homework; and while all my remaining friends partnered off with their boyfriends, I remained very much alone.

Later I learned that people generally stayed away from me because I didn't appear approachable. I was simply too quiet, a direct result of my low self-esteem, and since that obviously did me no good, I started letting myself blossom a little.

I got involved; I took drama, joined the cheer squad, and was an honor student, all the way. Though still quiet, I smiled more, joked more, and went out of my way to have a little more fun, going out with the gang after games and traveling to Oahu to cheer for our team. Still, I had no success... I went to the homecoming dance with a female friend; I went to the sweetheart's ball with a guy whose girlfriend's mother wouldn't let him take her; and I went to the prom with a blind date that was scraped up at the very last minute by a counselor who had pity on me. No real dates. No boyfriends.

I figured I was forever doomed a maid. I'm ugly, I thought. I'm extremely gauche. I'm a cold fish. I will die alone. Nobody likes me; everybody hates me; guess I'll go eat worms...

Later, when I was well into my university years, a good friend told me about a boy that went to the same high school we did. He had the biggest crush on me, she said, and he knew everything from my middle name to my daily routine--what classes I was taking, what car I drove, and so on and so forth. I was amazed; up until that point, I'd had no idea that anyone actually admired me back then. When I asked her why he never approached me, her answer was simple: he was intimidated.

Intimidated?

I'd seen myself as awkward and shy--both in and out of the classroom--because of my continuous struggle for a little bit of confidence in all areas of my life, and yet according to my friend, boys were intimidated by me because I was cute, popular, and extremely smart. Who'd a thunk?! I wasn't disfigured, and I knew I was involved in school, a good student... but never would I have guessed that anyone could admire me.

Amazing, isn't it... how you look into the mirror and don't quite see what other people see. Physically, you see a reflection of what the world sees; the left side is on the right, and the right is on the left, not quite what you really look like to everyone else. It isn't until you see a photograph of yourself that you realize how you really look to others, but photographs take time; they get shot, developed, delivered, and seen. A significant amount of time passes between the moment captured and the moment relived, and by then you've grown and changed, and how people see you may no longer be the same.

You never know; you just never know. You can only guess, and sometimes that just leaves too much room for error.

What do they see when they see me? I don't know. When I look into the mirror, I see a young woman who reverts to acting like a little girl when she's uncertain and scared; I see someone who's capable and bright but can't blow her own horn enough to get anyone else in the business world to believe it; I see a person with natural talent and skill, holding herself back because she's letting the fact that she's had no formal training crimp her confidence.

I don't know how close that reflection is to the photograph, but I would imagine that it's on target somehow. After all, my boyfriend--my own personal self-confidence builder-upper--tells me the very same thing everyday...

...and--get this--he's a photographer.