Until this past weekend, I never knew that eyeliner could be blown out your nose. 

Perhaps I should start over. 

I am a firm believer that words matter.  What we say, and what words we use to say them, affects the way we think about things – can actually form the way we think about things.  I also believe that actions and visual cues are powerful mediums for changes in thinking.  With this in mind, it was time for me to make changes to my external self that reflected the changes I hope to see in my future internal self. 

This meant changing the way I look in several areas, starting with a groundbreaking concept; makeup.

Yes, of course I’ve worn make up before – and I wouldn’t put myself down as a complete failure.  Sure, I was a bit afraid of eye shadow but I don’t walk around with a big orange line around the bottom of my face either.  What I wanted was to have good quality supplies, in the right shades for me.  I wanted to get a solid understanding of the best application techniques.   I wanted to start using the makeup on a regular basis, not just birthdays and the rare night out.  I wanted to feel more mature, more feminine.

My process began on Friday night.  I left work and headed with resolve to a local branch of a large beauty supply store.  I had decided that while it was a bit more expensive, I wanted to take the fool proof approach of sitting through one of the makeovers offered, so I could look at what they did, confirm on the spot that a given product was the correct shade for my complexion, and buy exactly that one.

An hour later, I walked out of the store with a large bag, hooker eyes, and three hundred less dollars.  I had purchased virtually everything they threw my way, but in lighter tones than they had applied in most cases.  I opted for soft brown mascara and eyeliner instead of the jet black they had covered my eyes with.  Eye shadows were selected in shades of peach, as opposed to brown.  Still, I had bought the whole package.  I knew I was a complete sucker, but I was hoping the fact that I knew I was a complete sucker and had willfully decided to be one counted for something. 

I’m still hoping that.

I went home and was feeling pretty good until, due to the cold I’m still recovering from, I blew my nose and found that the black eyeliner had somehow traveled from my tear ducts to my nasal passage, and come out onto the Kleenex. 

I sat there marveling at the odd bits of information that can pass you by.  Did others know of this strange phenomenon?  I lurched to my laptop and headed for Google, typing in “eyeliner” and “nose” and found that yes, this was a factoid known to many, just not to me.  I determined that I really am a woman now, since I have joined the sisterhood of ladies that knows this. 

My pride is immense.  There should be a greeting card for this situation. 

The next morning, I was ready for step two; a manicure.  I never wear sculptured nails, but I felt the time was right.  I work at a desk all day, and type a great deal.  I felt that looking down and seeing hands that clearly belonged to a woman rather than a girl could help reinforce this idea subconsciously – so on went the nails, French manicure and all.

From there I headed to a salon where I had appointments set up for the rest of the afternoon.  I had made the decision to share the very basic, abbreviated story of why I was there to the two women I would be working with.  It’s hard to justify now, but the whole goal had been to look as different as I possibly could, and as attractive as I possibly could.  I needed to be different, new, and as pretty as possible to help boost my confidence in the coming months.  Somehow, I felt that if they knew the rudimentary facts, they would understand how important this was to me. 

I began by getting my eyebrows done, then moved on to have my hair dyed from dark brown to blonde, with a jaunty new haircut.  I found that when I looked into the mirror, I was looking at someone else; someone that held a strong resemblance to me, but was most certainly different as well.  It was exactly what I had hoped for.

From there, I headed back to the waxer for the first bikini wax of my life.  I had decided that since I was trying to think differently about the functionality and options for that specific area, that it might help me if it looked different as well; sort of a visual signal of the change that had taken place. 

I had always gotten the impression that a bikini wax was incredibly painful; now I’m not sure where I got that.  It really didn’t hurt at all. I expressed my surprise to Kerri, the woman doing my wax job.

“I always thought this was supposed to hurt – you know, you see jokes in movies and things” I commented.

“Oh yeah, all the time” She replied.  “Like ‘The 40 Year Old’…”

I saw the connection register on her face between her client and her film of choice.  The silence hung in the air for a minute as her eyes widened and her face reddened.  I felt bad for her – there was no reason to feel awkward.  I smiled back.

“…Virgin.” I finished for her.  “Yeah, I saw it – I thought they managed to make it sweeter than I expected.”

“Totally.” She responded.

The moment passed.

So here I sit – new blonde hair cut in a sassy new way, good brows, bikini wax, fancy nails, and sophisticated makeup.  There is an extra “clicking” noise as my manicured fingers tap at the keys of my computer all day.  As I hear it I remind myself, repeating the words over and over in my mind;

Things are changing.