leaf and girl

 

Believe it or not, one of the only photographs of myself that I’ve actually really liked was a drivers license photo taken many years ago. For a long time I attributed it to either having unusually good hair going on that particular day, or that the clerk at the DMV missed her true calling by exhibiting exceptional photography skills. But I’ve since come to understand the true phenomenon behind the remarkable drivers license photo.

I’d told my mom the night before that I needed to make the dreaded trip to the DMV for my license renewal the next day. She had recently moved to FL and experienced the extremely long wait to get her new license, so on her lunch break from work she took a chance that I was still waiting and showed up there unexpectedly to keep me company. (No cell phones for us in the olden days.)

I was so happy to see her in part because it really is boring at the DMV, but more because I was so grateful for the fact that after years of our living 1500 miles apart my mom was close enough to do this. She chose to forfeit her lunch and sit with her daughter simply because she could.

My turn finally arrived and when the photo was snapped I wasn’t looking directly at the camera, but at my mother who stood just beyond it. I can still remember that moment clearly, the way she was smiling at me and the way her smile made me feel. It was a very ordinary moment made extraordinary only because both my mother and I were aware and completely present to the gift of being together.

So it was a legendary photo taken that day at the DMV: a photo of myself that I didn’t criticize or cringe when viewing. So often when needing to present my license for various reasons people commented on what a great drivers license photo it was, and I’d always smile and say, “I know, what a fluke!”. But it wasn’t a fluke, nor was it the good hair, it was instead a split second in time captured when I was overflowing with gratitude, and where the sparkle in my eyes and smile on my lips were merely a reflection of what my mom was seeing in me.

Perception is everything–it’s how we deliberately choose to see that makes all the difference in the world. The catalyst for my wanting to create the sort of portraits I’m continually aspiring towards has been and will remain the memory of the way my mother saw me. I don’t ever want to forget how that felt. So I choose to see with those eyes.

The infamous drivers license ended up missing one day and was never recovered. I was saddened by this petty event, somewhat because I’m just vain enough to have liked to permanently hold on to that exquisite little DMV treasure, but also because I had lost my mother to cancer by that time, and the photo was as much a lasting portrait of her as it was of me.

And perhaps the most unfortunate ending to this already heartrending tale: every drivers license photo taken of me since that time has been of typical DMV quality and not one bit flattering. Ü

~Cynthia