The aftermath of a compliment

Last week at a coffee shop, a total stranger paid me a lovely compliment. He was an average looking person, sitting in a corner, a laptop propped before him on the table. Past that,  I scarcely noticed him and, later, found it hard to believe he had noticed me, in my safe Ann Taylor-ish workday issue.
The most interesting people in the shop to me were two little boys, trying to find the best table for sitting and having their hot chocolate. Fussing, like little old men.

The barista handed me my coffee and as I fumbled with the sugar packet at the bar, these words flowed into my ear: "You are an extraordinarily beautiful woman." I turned and the man at the laptop was there, I hadn't even heard him approach. I thanked him for the compliment, it made my day, and, really what an extraordinary thing to say, touched his arm and left.

Here is what it has made me think about, though. If that man knew me, would he still hold that opinion? If he knew I could be cruel, if he knew how I procrastinate and how lazy I can be, would that observation still hold or would it be tempered?

I know all of those things about me, and more, and they crowd out the nurture I can offer to my good points. There must be a constant guard up against the pests and demons we live with, so that we can maintain a civil and social appearance to the world.

The thing is, though, as I grow older, I am more accepting of my flaws, and more in control of them, as simply part of the sum of me.

I don't think that makes me extraordinary, but maybe it makes me beautiful inside.