In the aftermath of my Heather Blake experience, I was talked into trying internet dating. I couldn't post a picture on the site, but of course I offered to send one.
I did NOT look forward to it.
More importantly, everybody- even (insert name of most beautiful person you can think of) has been rejected because of his or her appearance on occasion, because no one's appearance appeals to everybody. But we don't know it- we just get dinged, no one ever says "You're too ugly to my eye".
But when we're chatting along fine, and she said send pictures- and the ding followed, I'd KNOW. Ouch! And it would happen, eventually. I'm no great beauty, and I must have done something really bad to Louis Daguerre in a previous life, because his invention is taking a terrible revenge. Pictures of me appear to be of someone entirely different, and uniformly goofy.
And eventually, it did. (Actually it wasn't a ding, just silence. Some people are rude!)
But here's the thing- I expected to be all sad, but it didn't bother me at all!
Because I realised that what was rejected was- my parents' DNA!
My physical body- my appearance- is the ONE THING about me that I don't choose, cannot change, and in fact have absolutely nothing to do with! My manners, my interests, my outlook, my speech, what I wear, my physical fitness- all those things ARE mine and I control them. I can even dye my hair if I like.
But my looks? They were made elsewhere, by people now dead, nine months before I was born.
It was absolutely liberating.