Fast-forward to nearly 20 years later, and I found myself thinking once again about who I am, who I want to be, and how I want to present myself to the world. My trip to Iraq gave me the opportunity to get away from the everyday grind, and afforded me time to reflect on my past, my present, and my future. During long walks through marketplaces, long bus rides, on visits to shrines, and in conversations with my tourmates, I thought a lot about how faith has always been a strong presence in my life, a calming force, and a source of inspiration — how grounding it was, and how much courage it demanded of you. (I was, after all, taking a vacation in a country known in today’s world more for its bombed-out infrastructure rather than its resorts.) I started realizing that I didn’t want to spend the rest of my life the way I had spent the past seven years, working at a job that made me loads of money but brought me very little happiness. I wanted to make sure that I lived a life where I could actually work to profoundly impact the life of others. I had no idea how I was going to do it, but I knew I had to. Although the trip felt cathartic, I couldn’t help but worry that boarding the plane back home from my trip would somehow wipe my memory clean of all I had thought about and the promise I made to myself. How could I be certain that moment of self-discovery would become a constant, continuous journey of self-discovery? In the restroom at the Istanbul airport, waiting for my connecting flight back home, I was in the process of changing back into my Western clothes — a black T-shirt, black pants, and a long-sleeved gray sweater. I had a teal scarf in my hands that I intended to pack away in my carry-on once I got to exactly where I was standing, but I felt that packing away the scarf also felt like packing away a part of myself. In that moment, I realized wearing the head covering made me feel powerful, resolute, and focused. I wanted to take it all with me back to my everyday life. So I did, and rewrapped it around my head. I felt like I was changing my outside to match my inside. This time, it wasn’t about shielding myself from the realities around me; it was about showcasing exactly who I was. It would be a very powerful form of expression — a visual reminder of my promise to myself and my principles, and a way to let others know that I identify with my faith and I have no problem with who I am. In the weeks since I’ve been back, I’ve felt more empowered to be who I am, complete with flaws and fierceness. While I decided to re-cover for a number of reasons that have nothing to do with fashion, the hijab actually changed my style, too. My friend saw me the other day and remarked that I had finally come into my own — and it showed. Once I wore the scarf and started dressing more modestly overall, something just clicked into place and I felt more comfortable in my skin. It also made me more eager to use my clothing as part of my expression. I’ve embraced a lot more color into my wardrobe, and that simple change comes from refusing to hide from the attention I know is coming my way to embracing it with confidence. My scarves reflect my changing moods and my tastes. It’s not only a statement about my faith and my self-worth, but also a part of my daily self-expression.