Hey there. I would like to say it’s good to see you, but a part of this meeting is always bittersweet. You see, you’ve known me since the day you were born. I provided your caretakers with a number to take home and to forever share with their family and friends. You’ve met me in my various forms. Whether it is at the pediatrician’s office, the gym, the school nurse, or your own bathroom, you have come to know me quite well. Correction: you think you have come to know me quite well.

There is a reason why our meetings are bittersweet. I have known you for quite a long time, and so I must consider you an old friend. Who doesn’t like seeing old friends? However, I also feel an ache inside me as the expression on your face changes based on the number I provide. It seems you have misunderstood what my purpose is. I am a tool, a handy one, in fact. I can help you weigh your luggage before a flight, check the weight of the fish you just caught, and provide a general idea of one aspect of your health. You seem to think I can do more, though.

It seems you view me not just as a measurer of weight. For you, I am a measurer of worth. I see you often, anxiously walking up to place your feet upon my cold surface. I have seen the tears well up in your eyes when the number I provide disappoints you. I have also seen the slight smile appear when I produce a number that pleases you. And, I have seen you step on and off me over and over again just to make sure the number is correct. I never meant to incite this idea that I am more than I am. You see, I am just a scale. I measure your weight: the force of gravity on you. Did you know that the number can change depending on how you step on me? It can change if you bring me to the top of the mountain, or to Mars, if you chose.

I wish I were more than just a tool, accidentally beckoning to you 35 times a day. I am trapped as this misused tool, one on which you step too frequently, worry about too often, and use to measure more than what I am intended to measure. It saddens me that we have reached such a misunderstanding about my true ability level. If I were more than a tool, perhaps I could actually measure your worth. I could tell you that a change in a number does not deserve the power to change your happiness. I could tell you that you are beautiful. I could tell you that when you smile at yourself in the mirror, you should keep that smile on all day because you do look good. I could tell you that you are more than your appearance. You are smart. You are talented. You are special. You are enough.