Would You Notice My Legs If We Met At Starbucks?

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Let me ask you a question.

First, imagine you and I are about to meet in person for the first time. We’ve chosen Starbucks as the meeting place. We’ll grab coffee or tea, sit down at a table, and get to know each other.

You walk into the coffee shop. If you’ve never been to Starbucks — or if you have — you’ll hear music coming from the speakers and see people seated at tables around the cafe. You’ll notice baristas at the counter taking orders, pouring coffee, creating lattes. You’ll watch a credit card get swiped as a customer pays, and you’ll turn as your periphery catches someone passing by on their way to the bathroom.

You’ll look around at the décor and feel the vibe. It’s not too brightly lit at Starbucks, lots of things to see on the walls, food in the display cases, and customers chatting with each other or working on their laptops alone, or just relaxing with coffee — scrolling their phones, of course. You’ll become mesmerized by the wording on the big menu sign on the wall. Venti? Grande?

Then I arrive. We exchange full-hearted laughs and a hug — I’m a hugger. We get our coffee and stake our claim on a table. We start chatting, listening intently, finding all the common ground we like to find with others. We sip our coffee and nibble croissants as time dwindles. Soon, the visit comes to a close. We throw away our trash and walk towards the door. We feel genuinely happy that we decided to meet up. It’s been a wonderful time of connection with someone we trust and like. We promise to keep up with each other. Then we depart, waving goodbye.

Now, let me ask you--At any time during our visit, did you notice the stubble on my legs?

If you laughed at that, great, but I also mean it sincerely. I’m going to guess that most anyone I ask this question of would say, “You’re joking.”

And I would say, “No.”

In life, every day, no matter where we are or who we are, there are details so insignificant that they never make it onto anyone’s radar, or if they do, they aren’t important in the slightest. This is because there are too many other things that we either need to or can opt to pay attention to — and this just becomes truer the more complicated the world becomes. Stubble would be quite noticeable if we existed in a white-walled room with nothing else in it but the two of us sitting on a couch with nothing to do. And even then, would you care?

The tiny details are often not as important or urgent as we think. I’m not talking O-rings here. I’m talking all the things we fret over, despite how insignificant. We can easily lose sight of the big picture the minute we pivot to a minuscule focus on what truly doesn’t matter.

Why do we adopt such a focus even though we’re clear that a higher-level view will allow a more effective and creative approach to what we’re doing? Would we choose differently if we knew it would allow us more prioritized happiness and less unnecessary distress?

It took me decades before it dawned on me that no one could see the stubble on my legs. I realized this after my eyesight aged and I couldn’t see the stubble from just a few feet away. Then, as this allowed me to ease my lifelong insistence that I keep my legs perfectly shaved for fear I’d look scraggly, it occurred to me that even if someone could see, they wouldn’t care.

It didn’t matter.

Everyone walks around focused on the thoughts swimming in their heads and the catchy sights surrounding them. Never once would the stubble on my legs be of importance in anyone’s personal storyline. Don’t even try to write that story. Nobody would believe it. Or if you do, it better be a humor piece. (Hmm. Now that has me thinking. . .)

There are plenty of reasons why we might lose sight of the bigger picture. I’m no expert in this, but I’ve been alive for some decades now. You do accumulate experience with minuscule focus, like it or not. Fear is usually the culprit. Fear of rejection, failure, making the wrong move, having hopes dashed — the stuff we can’t ever avoid even if we tried. But we try.

Sometimes we assume perfection is the key to safety, but I’d place my money on a life vest, fire extinguisher, security alarm system, or functional parachute. Shaving my legs was never going to save me from danger — in this case, loss of social acceptance. However, once I believed it would, I had a rock-solid strategy to ensure my safety — a Gillette disposable razor.

Except, it wasn’t rock-solid. Underneath that belief was the truth. Stubble was not my problem. My problem was accepting that I can’t control what others think of me. Once we tackle the larger picture, we get rewarded with a large gift — in my case, accepting myself as good enough and letting others think what they will. An extra side gift was realizing others already accepted me just fine — it was all just in my head.

I know I’m not the only one who worries about small things to stave off larger concerns. Knowing where to draw the line is a tricky skill. Over time, it gets easier to draw the line because we’ve done it elsewhere. The key is knowing that drawing it will be part of the process of moving forward and putting ourselves out there.

For me, it starts with noticing I’m overly valuing something tiny — a nothingburger. From there, I look for why I’m valuing it so much. I ask, “Is this the best use of my time and mental bandwidth?” Then I remind myself, “You’re fine as-is. Go forward, work, learn, reap, be grateful for the experience.”

Eventually, I learned to go for at least two weeks without shaving my legs. And, I kid you not — I can go even longer now. Maybe I should see how long I can go. I could experiment. Ask acquaintances and friends if they want to meet at Starbucks. Have coffee, chat. Stick my leg out to the side of the table and test whether anyone notices. Grow the stubble to the point of long flowing hair. Braid it, even dye it funky colors. See how long it takes for someone to walk up to me and say, “Hey, lady, I love what you’ve done with that stubble. How can I get stubble like that?”

Then the real conversation begins.

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Hope your summer is going well, friends.