When I got my first pair of glasses back in the sixth grade, I remember walking out of the place with my eyes glued to the ground;
I could barely wrap my mind around how clear and defined the asphalt was, or how I could see every little nook and cranny of it, every little stone trapped in it.
After five minutes of practically worshipping the ground for the beauty I'd never noticed it had, I finally looked up, and that moment was the most breathtaking moment of my life.

I guess we all have moments like that, both literally and figuritively. Moments in which something old and dull has new life breathed into it. Moments when the veil of ignorance is lifted, and a whole new world is exposed to you. Moments that change your life.

A lot of things in my life have been gradual. There were few times in which my viewpoint shifted abruptly, but the few I can remember are beautiful.

In the eighth grade, I went to a math contest. I got first from my school, and won a medal. That day also happened to be the day of track and field for my school, so the bus dropped us off there. At first, I hid my medal away. I was already painfully conspicuous in a pencil skirt, with my hair down. I stuck out enough that I was afraid my appearance alone would give me away and I'd be teased like I always was. For some inexplicable reason, I was bullied not for being a nerd, but for being smart. I still don't understand it. But I knew at the time that I was a nerd, and worse, I was the creme de la creme of the nerds from our school. So my medal remained tucked inside my friend's bag. But after a couple of friends asking to see it, I surrendered. In a moment filled with dorky bravado, I hung the medal around my neck, refusing to hide it again. Let them see. Let them tease. I got second place in a math contest written by thirty people, all the most competent from their schools. I should be proud, no? And I was teased, when people asked, in awe, how I got a medal in track and field - only little ribbons were handed out to winners - only to find out it was from a math test. "Lame." But it wasn't lame to me. That day was revolutionary. The day before, I was a gangly pre-teen nerd who was ashamed of who she was. The day after, I was a gangly pre-teen nerd and proud of it.

Another time my life shifted so radically was fairly recent. I had spent the week at a friend's house and volunteered with her at a vacation bible school at her church. That Thursday, I also went with her to a music camp at the parish. The guitarist there was a guy only a few years older than me. His father taught at my school, and the guitarist himself was a student there when he was younger. Talking to him and my friend was a pivotal moment. Their faith is beautiful, and I'd like to emphasize 'faith.' They believed in God but it didn't end there, they believed in goodness and in being good to all they meet. They were sweet, and innocent, and cool. My friend gets teased for having such strong faith, but being face to face with them felt like I was meeting the cast of my favourite TV show. They were cool. While my epiphany wasn't as strong as that I experienced in grade eight - I had never thought my friend lame for her strong values - it was just as awesome.

In my life, the biggest lesson I've learned is to be proud of who you are, no matter how people try to bring you down. There is beauty to being unique. It's beautiful how much trust and faith my friend has in God. It was beautiful how awkward and nerdy I was. Everybody deserves to feel beautiful, because there is without a shadow of a doubt something beautiful about them. Realizing this is a lot like putting on a pair of glasses for the first time, and seeing the world for what it really is, in every stunning detail.