Much of what I write is for myself.
The real me is a thesis worthy study in dichotomy.
#irony should get much more use as a tag or category on my blogs.
The picture below is a prime example.
Do I “always” practice this myself? BIG FAT NO. EPIC FAIL. But then that’s where it came from. That tiny voice inside subconsciously directing my thoughts and actions.
Do you know how I know without a doubt that my husband truly loves me, besides the myriad ways he shows and tells me in our day to day life? How I am certain he sees me through eyes of love? I KNOW KNOW because he posts what I deem to be THE MOST UNFLATTERING photos of me on his Facebook page! Pictures which are the very antithesis of my carefully curated online profile. Bad lighting, worst angle, it’s as if he has an app that has an edit tool to enable focusing on every minute flaw I see in myself. One in which you can tap,”forefront” and make each individual scar, zit, wrinkle or least favorite feature pop out. GLARINGLY! When I complain, by asking him if he used FlawFocus or Uglify this time, he says I’m being ridiculous. I’m beautiful. His eyes of love speaking.
Every flaw I see in myself.
I could list them for you but you’re a smart cookie (you’re reading my blog aren’t you) so you already know where I might go with that list. Besides you being intelligent, I actually believe you have your own list about me and it contains the same things. Granted, these days I don’t spend near the same amount of time as I used to, hyperfocusing on which aspect of my physical appearance you’re cataloging. I’ve made a tremendous amount of progress since puberty. Through the years I’ve amassed a toolkit of tricks from beauty professionals; highlight here, contour there, soften these, diminish those, these colors flatter these skin tones, etc., etc. I’ve also come to civil conversation terms with the face in the mirror. That usually sounds something like, “It is what it is”. To paraphrase my new favorite comedian Amy Schumer:
Guys spend like 5 minutes getting ready. They run their hands through their hair, smile at their reflection and give themselves the thumbs up. After spending an hour and a half in the bathroom getting ready, I think OK, I look average.
And that’s the elevated point I’m at most days. Average. That’s alright with me.
But, anyone who has known me for a while knows that average is NOT what I strive for in any part of my life. I don’t usually settle happily for average. I’m still bummed by the fact I earned 2 Bs in college (Microbiology & Structure and Usage of the English Language- think sentence diagramming for masochists) and I did not buy my degree online. From the meals I cook to the words I write, I passionately desire it all to be much better than average. I seriously want you to drool like a baby over your dinner plate at my table and the same goes for the electronic device you’re reading this on. But I know we’ve all (including me) got what we’ve got when it comes to physical appearance. Except if you’ve got big money. Then you can get what you don’t have but think you need.
Granted, there are the goldest, most delicious of days when I tell the woman in the mirror that she looks “pretty damn hot” for her age. Usually this is after getting my hair colored, cut and styled and coinciding with non-bloat days, OR after a few glasses of purely medicinal wine. Regardless, I’ll take them, while fervently wishing they would multiply exponentially.
My confession dear reader is that fewer are the times that I practice what I preach. I don’t always look at myself with those “eyes of love” that I beseech you to. The good news is that I judge you by an entirely different standard. I’m so much more kind to you than I am to myself. When I observe or talk to you, I wear a totally different pair of glasses. That pair has lenses which filter out your skin and eye colors, your facial symmetry or lack thereof, the terrain of your skin and the shape of your body. That pair has a “spiritually risen” feature built right in so that what appears to me is your heart and soul. I may compliment your new haircut, shoes or outfit but if asked how I feel about you, those things wouldn’t come to mind. What comes to mind, forming my personal opinion (like a–holes, everyone has one) is the person I see inside, the one underneath the facade of clothes and makeup. The one that connects and interacts with the world around them. I’ve finally reached the point in my life where I know that what truly matters, (after the first impression) is the unseen. UNLESS I happen to be looking in the mirror on a bad hair, feeling fat, old and tired day or upon learning that my darling husband just posted that unapproved picture of me. Then it’s:
Peace and Love