I always feel kind of sheepish when I discover something that’s been there all along. Like my revelation is somehow magnificent, when really, it’s just overdue. We are saving for a house— the contract has been accepted, we love it, we’re ready for the next chapter. We are believers in creating your own destiny, but we are also intimately familiar with Murphy’s Law, so we’re nervous. We are in hardcore belt-tightening and breath-holding mode.
Now, I may be alone on this, but I doubt it. Diets, mandatory spending freezes and proclamations of celibacy all make you…
WANT WHAT YOU CAN’T HAVE!
I have been trying to rethink my wardrobe and find new ways to make myself feel good. For the first time in my life I am consistently applying some sort of something at night— beta this, alpha that, regenerist blah-dee-blagh. I am subscribing to the belief that if I take pains, I’ll reap rewards. Not sure it’s working, but as I slather the stuff on, I feel kind of special (note to self, maybe say “dab” or “apply” rather than “slather” to feel even better).
All this week I have been trying to infuse my outfits with something that makes me feel not almost 37, because certain five year olds have mused aloud that, “Maybe 37 is the birthday when you become a grandma.” I am tall. I have impossibly broad shoulders. Strong legs. Twinkly eyes. There are other things I could dwell on, but damn if that doesn’t just remind me of the turtle my host family in Spain had, she would crawl beneath the kitchen table and slowly bonk her head against the wall. Again.
I don’t want to be a turtle. And, while I may have dreamed of being 5’7″ with a size 7 foot and straight hair, I am not. The only thing I am going to change at this point is my attitude. The beauty of an attitude change is at literally changes how you look.
So when it’s time to dress this body of mine, I am learning to admire the way 33″ of saffron colored corduroy looks covering my legs. I slip into sleeveless shirts and instead of lamenting the way my shoulders are always too wide, I nod proudly at the curves of softly freckled, dramatically muscled arms popping deliberately from my shirts.
I stand taller, walk sassier and my eyes flash brighter. Don’t get me wrong, I’d almost be willing to sing in public* for a chance to get new clothes, but until I can go shopping, I can make some magic happen. And, in the elusive search for choices that allow me to do for myself while still setting a good example for my 3 daughters, finding ways to love what I’ve got ranks up there as one of the best.
How about you? Can you love what you’ve got?