I am finally ready to begin the lovely and introspective writing prompts for August Moon 14, thanks to Kat McNally and her ever-fertile mind and brave writings.I am late to this party since she began emailing the two weeks' worth of prompts Aug. 10. Fortunately, neither she nor I care when they get done: what is important is that I examine where I am.
But first, let me say what is foremost on my mind today, largely because of a dream early this morning and also an innocent question asked about my recent surgical procedure.
I am not 'less than' anyone. I have never been 'less than' anyone. I am fully, wonderfully, bravely flawed and wholly exactly who I am. And that is enough.
The dream was fairly interesting, involved various electronic and film equipment set up in tight quarters perched somehow on the balcony of what appeared to be either an old church or an old school, with trailing wires everywhere. There was a gathering of people who I know, not well, from various parts and times of my life sitting below at tables and chairs, and there had been some interaction with a few of them, not unpleasant but not remarkable either. Somehow one of them was moving a film screen on the balcony, and I grabbed at the end of the bottom roll, telling him I'd help and to be careful, and with that, he pitched completely off the balcony, much to my horror and dismay! I don't believe he was injured, but it was clear the rest of the group was judging me, whispering disapprovingly, as they moved to help the person who had fallen. I was, as I have been many times before in my life, left outside, and feeling very much 'less than,' shamed, worried, and awkward.
I woke abruptly from this, and the thought "I am not 'less than' anyone. I am fully who I am supposed to be. That is enough" was clear and completely formed in my always-fuzzy morning brain.
This week a lovely friend asked what caused the atrial fibrillation for which I had, exactly a week ago, a radio-frequency catheter ablation. It was an innocent, well-meaning question that anyone unfamiliar with the disease might ask. But it, too, momentarily made me feel 'less than,' as if somehow I had brought on this condition through some action or behavioral folly. As if somehow, if I had taken better care of my body, always maintained a healthy diet and good exercise, lived a blameless, shameless life, done something -- anything -- smarter-better-faster-healthier -- that I would not now be recovering from this procedure, or from any other health issue for that matter.
Oh, I so understand the fallacy in that.
But the feeling of 'less than' is insidious and pervasive. It does not respect celebrity nor money nor career nor lifestyle. It grabs a toehold where it can and hangs on, waiting patiently if need be, to feed. In my case, I know it has been there most of my life.
And I believe that even those we imagine to be 'more than' we ourselves are -- healthier, wealthier, slimmer, prettier, more successful -- suffer from the 'less than' feelings at least sometimes.
The person who makes me feel 'less than' is me. Nobody else has access to my thoughts, to my emotions. That responsibility rests squarely and completely at my own soul's door.
I am not at fault for anyone's actions but my own. I am not responsible for anyone's thoughts or feelings but my own. Nobody has the power to make me feel 'less than' except me.
And I am declaring that I am enough, just as I am. I am not 'less than' anyone, no matter whether I am fat, skinny, healthy, unhealthy, whether I do yoga every day or once a month, whether I eat kale or candy, whether I am part of the wine-drinking, stylish, party group or prefer to sit watching television in my comfy yoga pants with my husband. What I do with my life is MINE to decide.
My choices are my responsibility too. I get to choose my lifestyle, my health habits, my foods, my friends, what I do in my spare time. Nobody else gets a say in that either.
I realize that sometimes the shit hits the fan, and we get atrial fibrillation, or cancer, or name-your-disease, or god-help-us-all Lou Gehrig's Disease. It is not our fault. We do not get this because we are 'less than.'
(Okay, I will concede that there are things we can do-- choices we can make -- that lessen our odds of some disease or condition developing, like quitting smoking, not doing drugs or alcohol, exercising regularly, etc. LESSEN, mind you, not prevent. And then again, they are choices we get to make for our own lives -- and having made the choice, it also is wholly ours to accept. We are not victims when we choose our course of action. )
So this is where I am today: I am enough, exactly who I am, flaws and all. How I live going forward is completely up to me. I will not accept anyone else's judgment of me as 'less than' -- or, for that matter, 'more than.' It is my own thoughts that are important here, my actions, my choices. I am all that I need to be, right here.
Showing posts with label body. Show all posts
Showing posts with label body. Show all posts
Monday, September 01, 2014
Wednesday, April 04, 2012
This amazing body
With some of our recent health issues, I've been thinking a lot lately about my body, and contemplating each part, especially this morning as I lay on the massage table.
Like most women, and many men, too, I suppose, I'm not a huge fan of what's there. It's long and lumpy and somewhat squishy. There is dimpled or wrinkly skin where it was once smooth. An assortment of scars and marks decorate limbs, torso, even face.
A couple of toes are bent and a little stiff; my thumb joints are thick and frozen. My gait can be a little stiff, depending on achy hip joints or lower back; my left elbow doesn't flex all the way out; my shoulders creak and my neck can grind.
But it works.
My legs take me where I need to go, and my balance is pretty good as long as I do regular yoga. My feet need extra cushioning in my shoes these days but they are straight and still nice looking. I can stand up straight and tall: my back is no more curved than it's ever been, and I consciously 'telescope' my spine and pull my shoulders back when I stand. I can bend over to pull weeds or plant seedlings or pick something up off the floor and get back up again without help.
My arms and shoulders let me carry shopping bags or groceries or pots or piles of fresh laundry or kitties or babies, and I can hoist a sling full of firewood into the house if I need to. My hands slice and chop and shred food for our meals, and I can still easily type with all 10 fingers, and knit or sew or thread a needle.. They may be a little lumpy in places, but they don't hurt.
My eyes see well, actually better now that I've had cataract surgery than I saw all of my adult life, and they let me read and watch movies and ocean waves and plays and see my honey's big brown eyes right before I turn out the light at night. My ears bring me music and the chirrups of the birds that flock to our feeders and the soft mew of our kitties and the footfalls of the deer outside our window at night. They may not pick up every word sometimes, but that's usually no great loss.
My mouth may have gold and silver and porcelain in abundance, but my teeth can chew anything I want to eat, and my throat easily swallows the big vitamin supplements that we take every morning. My voice still carries to the back of most rooms and my words are clear.
My hair is bright and thick and healthy, silvery gray though it may be. My mind works well enough for me to understand the books and magazines I read, the conversations I have, and even to memorize lines. It may work a bit overtime in remembering trivia from many years ago and replaying scenes from my past, but I can usually corral those wanderings and come back to what is here and now. I see things from a perspective that generally cuts through to the heart of the situation or to the essence of a person, and I am not afraid to say what I see and think, although I am careful to choose my words.
I know that our physical appearance can make a lasting first impression, especially upon those who are younger. But I am aware also that outward appearance does not necessarily reflect who we are and what we can do, and as I age, I have begun to look more deeply before I venture an opinion about someone.
I have an amazing body. I am so grateful for all that it does, for all it allows me to be and do. And now, more than ever before in my life, I am consciously, intentionally working to keep it healthy and strong for as long as I can, and to say 'thank you' every day for all that I do have. If yours works, if it does what you need it to do, you should, too.
Like most women, and many men, too, I suppose, I'm not a huge fan of what's there. It's long and lumpy and somewhat squishy. There is dimpled or wrinkly skin where it was once smooth. An assortment of scars and marks decorate limbs, torso, even face.
A couple of toes are bent and a little stiff; my thumb joints are thick and frozen. My gait can be a little stiff, depending on achy hip joints or lower back; my left elbow doesn't flex all the way out; my shoulders creak and my neck can grind.
But it works.
My legs take me where I need to go, and my balance is pretty good as long as I do regular yoga. My feet need extra cushioning in my shoes these days but they are straight and still nice looking. I can stand up straight and tall: my back is no more curved than it's ever been, and I consciously 'telescope' my spine and pull my shoulders back when I stand. I can bend over to pull weeds or plant seedlings or pick something up off the floor and get back up again without help.
My arms and shoulders let me carry shopping bags or groceries or pots or piles of fresh laundry or kitties or babies, and I can hoist a sling full of firewood into the house if I need to. My hands slice and chop and shred food for our meals, and I can still easily type with all 10 fingers, and knit or sew or thread a needle.. They may be a little lumpy in places, but they don't hurt.
My eyes see well, actually better now that I've had cataract surgery than I saw all of my adult life, and they let me read and watch movies and ocean waves and plays and see my honey's big brown eyes right before I turn out the light at night. My ears bring me music and the chirrups of the birds that flock to our feeders and the soft mew of our kitties and the footfalls of the deer outside our window at night. They may not pick up every word sometimes, but that's usually no great loss.
My mouth may have gold and silver and porcelain in abundance, but my teeth can chew anything I want to eat, and my throat easily swallows the big vitamin supplements that we take every morning. My voice still carries to the back of most rooms and my words are clear.
My hair is bright and thick and healthy, silvery gray though it may be. My mind works well enough for me to understand the books and magazines I read, the conversations I have, and even to memorize lines. It may work a bit overtime in remembering trivia from many years ago and replaying scenes from my past, but I can usually corral those wanderings and come back to what is here and now. I see things from a perspective that generally cuts through to the heart of the situation or to the essence of a person, and I am not afraid to say what I see and think, although I am careful to choose my words.
I know that our physical appearance can make a lasting first impression, especially upon those who are younger. But I am aware also that outward appearance does not necessarily reflect who we are and what we can do, and as I age, I have begun to look more deeply before I venture an opinion about someone.
I have an amazing body. I am so grateful for all that it does, for all it allows me to be and do. And now, more than ever before in my life, I am consciously, intentionally working to keep it healthy and strong for as long as I can, and to say 'thank you' every day for all that I do have. If yours works, if it does what you need it to do, you should, too.
Friday, January 20, 2012
You don't know what you got....
Joni Mitchell's lyrics are running through my head today: "Don't it always seem to go
That you don't know what you got
Til its gone..."
While I'm not talking about paving paradise and parking lots, I am thinking of how we age and the subtleties of how it happens. Aging is not something I thought about at all in my 20s or 30s, and never a lot even in my 40s, although there were plenty of changes in that decade that had to do with aging and perhaps maturing in one way or another.
And even into my early 50s, an especially wonderful time in my life as Tony and I met and eventually got married, the aging process was noticed, but was not yet a big deal.
As I approach 65, it is becoming more so.
There is almost no brown left in my hair, I noticed during a haircut this morning. It's a mix of greys and silvers with a touch of white here and there. Over the years, it started as a sort of mousey brown and changed to a darker, richer reddish brown, and I experimented with various colors and textures -- perms, weaves, dark, blonde, light, red,streaked... And now it's straight and soft and full and fine. And grey. And it really works for me.
Older faces DO have wrinkles and creases, and I have 'em. And the awful jowly turkeyneck too, something I've yet to see successfully dealt with without a surgeon's intervention. I hated turkeyneck from my 20s. But I'm not doing any surgery that isn't absolutely necessary, lemme tell you. Turkeyneck doesn't qualify as essential repair. And hands -- ooo, those nasty veiny, my-aging-grandmother hands. Moisturize. Moisturize.
Things don't work like they did, from the limbs and joints to the bladder and teeth. My urologist pats my hand and says, shaking her head, "Beth, God didn't mean for us to get old." My joints, several of them repaired with plates and screws, still work reasonably well, but that's if I keep taking the glucosamine-chondrotin-MSM stuff and drinking my folk remedy cocktail of grape juice and Certo. Yikes! I sound more like my grandmother every year!
Health takes more maintenance. Like a classic car, we're in the 'shop' (doctor's offices) more frequently, and the older we get, more tests/meds/effort are required to make sure the parts are running adequately. No matter if things have been reasonably okay up until now: you don't ignore the little stuff any longer because it can easily turn into bigger deals: expensive, complicated deals that can definitely mess with your quality of life.
Oh, food. That's definitely changed. We were talking about fried foods the other day, and I realized that it has probably been decades since I fried a chicken. Mashed potatoes and gravy? A couple of times a year, at the most. If I fix rice, it's brown and basmati, which has the lowest glycemic index load.
Who knew anything about glycemic index back in their 20s or 30s, or even 40s? Who cared? I ate and drank pretty much whatever I wanted, as did most of us. Not any more, although I'm grateful I appreciate fresh veggies and fruits as much as I do.
Now all this stuff isn't gone, but it's definitely changing. We take so much for granted on our path through life, or at least I sure did, always understanding that I'd get older, but not even slightly getting how much change aging brings, and how sneakily it creeps into your every day life, year by year. One year you're bouncing around in heels and cute little strappy sandals, and the next -- well, sooner than you'd think -- your feet are killing you and you're searching for 'comfort' shoes that are at least a little stylish.
I didn't appreciate most of it when I had it, either. I like to think I'd have taken better care of my skin, my body, even my health, and stopped eating or drinking things that were clearly not good for me even then.
So listen up: if you're lucky enough to live long enough, you're going to start to show the results of all the things you've done to your body over the years. Your skin and hair and teeth and organs are going to begin to show that they've carried you a long ways, and sometimes over a lot of dirt road.
Appreciate what you've got in your amazing life machine when you're young and aging is waaaaayyyy down the road, something that parents and grandparents do. Sooner than you think, you'll be there.
It's not all bad, mind you, this aging thing. But that's another day.
That you don't know what you got
Til its gone..."
While I'm not talking about paving paradise and parking lots, I am thinking of how we age and the subtleties of how it happens. Aging is not something I thought about at all in my 20s or 30s, and never a lot even in my 40s, although there were plenty of changes in that decade that had to do with aging and perhaps maturing in one way or another.
And even into my early 50s, an especially wonderful time in my life as Tony and I met and eventually got married, the aging process was noticed, but was not yet a big deal.
As I approach 65, it is becoming more so.
There is almost no brown left in my hair, I noticed during a haircut this morning. It's a mix of greys and silvers with a touch of white here and there. Over the years, it started as a sort of mousey brown and changed to a darker, richer reddish brown, and I experimented with various colors and textures -- perms, weaves, dark, blonde, light, red,streaked... And now it's straight and soft and full and fine. And grey. And it really works for me.
Older faces DO have wrinkles and creases, and I have 'em. And the awful jowly turkeyneck too, something I've yet to see successfully dealt with without a surgeon's intervention. I hated turkeyneck from my 20s. But I'm not doing any surgery that isn't absolutely necessary, lemme tell you. Turkeyneck doesn't qualify as essential repair. And hands -- ooo, those nasty veiny, my-aging-grandmother hands. Moisturize. Moisturize.
Things don't work like they did, from the limbs and joints to the bladder and teeth. My urologist pats my hand and says, shaking her head, "Beth, God didn't mean for us to get old." My joints, several of them repaired with plates and screws, still work reasonably well, but that's if I keep taking the glucosamine-chondrotin-MSM stuff and drinking my folk remedy cocktail of grape juice and Certo. Yikes! I sound more like my grandmother every year!
Health takes more maintenance. Like a classic car, we're in the 'shop' (doctor's offices) more frequently, and the older we get, more tests/meds/effort are required to make sure the parts are running adequately. No matter if things have been reasonably okay up until now: you don't ignore the little stuff any longer because it can easily turn into bigger deals: expensive, complicated deals that can definitely mess with your quality of life.
Oh, food. That's definitely changed. We were talking about fried foods the other day, and I realized that it has probably been decades since I fried a chicken. Mashed potatoes and gravy? A couple of times a year, at the most. If I fix rice, it's brown and basmati, which has the lowest glycemic index load.
Who knew anything about glycemic index back in their 20s or 30s, or even 40s? Who cared? I ate and drank pretty much whatever I wanted, as did most of us. Not any more, although I'm grateful I appreciate fresh veggies and fruits as much as I do.
Now all this stuff isn't gone, but it's definitely changing. We take so much for granted on our path through life, or at least I sure did, always understanding that I'd get older, but not even slightly getting how much change aging brings, and how sneakily it creeps into your every day life, year by year. One year you're bouncing around in heels and cute little strappy sandals, and the next -- well, sooner than you'd think -- your feet are killing you and you're searching for 'comfort' shoes that are at least a little stylish.
I didn't appreciate most of it when I had it, either. I like to think I'd have taken better care of my skin, my body, even my health, and stopped eating or drinking things that were clearly not good for me even then.
So listen up: if you're lucky enough to live long enough, you're going to start to show the results of all the things you've done to your body over the years. Your skin and hair and teeth and organs are going to begin to show that they've carried you a long ways, and sometimes over a lot of dirt road.
Appreciate what you've got in your amazing life machine when you're young and aging is waaaaayyyy down the road, something that parents and grandparents do. Sooner than you think, you'll be there.
It's not all bad, mind you, this aging thing. But that's another day.
Tuesday, December 14, 2010
Reverb 10 -- Appreciation
Appreciate. What's the one thing you have come to appreciate most in the past year? How do you express gratitude for it?
I appreciate that my body gets me where I need to go, keeps me upright and allows me to do gardening, cleaning, shopping, cooking, reading, thinking, watching, listening, talking, etc., without struggle.
It could be in better shape, I'll grant you.
But it works pretty well. I am grateful every day to have legs that get me up and moving, that I can type easily and without pain, that I can think and speak with ease, that I can move what needs moving or carry what needs carrying or pet what needs petting.
And I need to take care of it -- what I put into it, where I go with it, what demands I am making of it. It will not last forever. I must treasure what I have now.
That can be said of so much in my life -- treasure what I have now. Life is short. It can change completely in an instant. Take nothing for granted; be aware, be awake, be grateful.
I appreciate that my body gets me where I need to go, keeps me upright and allows me to do gardening, cleaning, shopping, cooking, reading, thinking, watching, listening, talking, etc., without struggle.
It could be in better shape, I'll grant you.
But it works pretty well. I am grateful every day to have legs that get me up and moving, that I can type easily and without pain, that I can think and speak with ease, that I can move what needs moving or carry what needs carrying or pet what needs petting.
And I need to take care of it -- what I put into it, where I go with it, what demands I am making of it. It will not last forever. I must treasure what I have now.
That can be said of so much in my life -- treasure what I have now. Life is short. It can change completely in an instant. Take nothing for granted; be aware, be awake, be grateful.
Tuesday, March 25, 2008
Being kind to ourselves
I've been thinking about this post for a long time, ever since Dianne Sylvan wrote about 10 things she loves about her body, and the interesting comments that followed.
Most of us can find a gazillion things we don't like -- every morning when we look in the mirror at our faces, or check the rear view in the mirror, or look at our hands. There are gray hairs (a big distress for some folks), turkey necks, fine lines around lips or eyes, cellulite on the legs or hips, sagging breasts, rounded tummies....well, you get the point.
But we don't talk about the things we DO like, the features that please us, this machine that allows us to function in today's world. So think about what you appreciate, what you like about your body, your miraculous, amazing framework of bones and muscles and tissue and skin, and give thanks for them.
Here's my list:
1. I love my eyes. They're big, expressive, reflective. The color is green-turning-hazel-turning green, and the green intensifies when I wear certain colors like bright blue or purple or turquoise. I'm grateful that through them I see this beautiful earth, the color of the bluebirds that populate our land at this time of year, the limey green of the new spring leaves and the dark blue-green when they're in the last gasp of fall. I see the faces of those I love, I get to read words in books and magazines and newspapers. They are my windows, my mirrors.
2. I love my legs. My mother had shapely legs all her life too. They're long, curvy, with well-defined calves and ankles. I've flaunted them in fishnets and short skirts, and they look good in slacks or jeans too. I'm grateful for the many places they've carried me.
3. I love my feet. They're long and well-proportioned, with long toes and nails that look good when I've polished and buffed them, which I do (mostly) regularly. I love how they look with a french manicure and my toe rings!They've had a few problems this last year, but I'm taking care of them with good shoes (always did) and professional care. They've given me a solid foundation over the years, and I want to make sure that continues.
4. I love my hair. Specifically, I love the color it is -- Mother Nature is highlighting it with gray and white and silver. I have a haircut now that suits its fine texture and stick-straightness, and emphasizes the color. I didn't always love it -- I've longed for curls and long hair so much of my life, and had perm after perm (that always damaged it, no matter how careful the stylists were), and enjoyed playing with highlights and lowlights to make it redder or blonder. I'm loving what it is like now and watching nature paint the highlights and lowlights.
5. I love my hands. Even though arthritis has done a number on my thumbs (started when I was barely 35), I still have good mobility and grip, and I like how my rings look on them: I wear my wedding ring on the left ring finger, and a Princess Di sapphire-diamond ring on the right ring finger, and my mother's engagement ring and my grandmother's wedding band on the right middle finger. They aren't big hands -- fairly narrow, with a long palm, and my middle finger is about as long as the palm. As a former nail-biter, I love how nice my nails look now when they're polished and filed. I treated myself to a professional manicure last week and really loved feeling so pampered. Ought to do that more often. I work with my hands -- I write -- and I've touched lovers and soothed babies and petted kitties with them. I dig in the dirt each spring when I plant my garden, and get dirt under the nails and lining the cuticles. I knead bread or shape pie crusts or cut out cookies with them; turn pages of books and newspapers, sew buttons or mend seams. They are working hands, not all soft and smooth, but they are gentle and loving hands. It's been a long time since they were raised in anger.
6. I love my height. Oh, I didn't when I was in junior high and high school and all the boys came up to my elbow. I felt too tall and gawky and uneasy in my long body. But my mother kept pushing me to stand up straight, to think queenly thoughts when I came into a room, to keep my head high, and eventually I enjoyed being tall. I can see things that short people can't. I can wear things that short people can't, and look dramatic doing it -- like capes and big hats. I can see over people's heads -- which helps in movies or plays, or when you're watching parades.
7. I like my figure, its proportion. I used to have a well-defined waist, but that's mostly straightened out. Nonetheless, I have broad shoulders, bust and hips are proportionate, and my waist is long. Yeah, things could be tighter, could be leaner, but overall I'm okay with it.
8. I love my ears. They're smallish, set close to my head, with nice, thin-but-rounded lobes. I got my ears pierced one weekend long ago when my college roommate and I decided to do drastic things to our appearances. She pierced my ears with a sterilized needle and ice to numb it (yeah, right), and I cut her hair into a pixie and frosted it with a do-it-yourself kit. We were both well pleased with our changes. I've always loved earrings and have big ones, dramatic ones, dainty pearls, small-but-sparkly diamonds, and the ubiquitous (and most often worn) plain gold hoops about the size of a quarter. I like howearrings look in my ears, and have thought about getting a second hole in each ear -- but haven't, and probably won't.
9. I love my curious mind. In less polite terms, I'm nosy. I like to know the details -- all of them, not just the facts, ma'm. It used to -- actually, it still does -- drive my daughter crazy because I'd keep asking questions and more questions about whatever she planned to do or is doing. I didn't mean it to irritate her; I just wanted to know the whos, whats, wheres, whys, and hows, and the names of everyone else involved. I'm a good Internet researcher and can tell you where a long-ago friend with whom I haven't been in touch for some 26 years is living and where she's employed, and even who she's living with. (Yes, you can run, but if you're on the Internet at all, you cannot hide!) As a writer, that curiosity serves me well and helps me tell a good story. It's not that I'm going to DO anything bad with all that information, understand, it's just that I like to know the whole story, and how it ends -- or at least where it is now.
10. I love my voice. I like that my speech is pitched a little lower than many women's voices, and I love the range of emotion and expression that it is capable of conveying. I like the precision -- the enunciation -- with which I mostly speak -- the result of many years of choral singing and college speech classes, where you learn to speak the 't's and the 'd's, the 'p's and the 'b's, but de-emphasize the 's's and 'r's, yet still pronouncing them clearly. I have a good vocal range -- or used to -- and can sing second alto or tenor in my chest voice but gust up to second soprano with my head voice. I like that I can speak to a full room and be heard without a microphone, but that's something I had to learn to control, since when I was young, I often spoke too loudly, and sometimes still do when I'm especially excited about something.
So there you have it. My choices surprised me a little. We need to be kinder to ourselves, to our appearance, and celebrate what we are rather than wishing we were something else. I'm glad I'm alive -- I'm grateful stuff still works! How about you?
Most of us can find a gazillion things we don't like -- every morning when we look in the mirror at our faces, or check the rear view in the mirror, or look at our hands. There are gray hairs (a big distress for some folks), turkey necks, fine lines around lips or eyes, cellulite on the legs or hips, sagging breasts, rounded tummies....well, you get the point.
But we don't talk about the things we DO like, the features that please us, this machine that allows us to function in today's world. So think about what you appreciate, what you like about your body, your miraculous, amazing framework of bones and muscles and tissue and skin, and give thanks for them.
Here's my list:
1. I love my eyes. They're big, expressive, reflective. The color is green-turning-hazel-turning green, and the green intensifies when I wear certain colors like bright blue or purple or turquoise. I'm grateful that through them I see this beautiful earth, the color of the bluebirds that populate our land at this time of year, the limey green of the new spring leaves and the dark blue-green when they're in the last gasp of fall. I see the faces of those I love, I get to read words in books and magazines and newspapers. They are my windows, my mirrors.
2. I love my legs. My mother had shapely legs all her life too. They're long, curvy, with well-defined calves and ankles. I've flaunted them in fishnets and short skirts, and they look good in slacks or jeans too. I'm grateful for the many places they've carried me.
3. I love my feet. They're long and well-proportioned, with long toes and nails that look good when I've polished and buffed them, which I do (mostly) regularly. I love how they look with a french manicure and my toe rings!They've had a few problems this last year, but I'm taking care of them with good shoes (always did) and professional care. They've given me a solid foundation over the years, and I want to make sure that continues.
4. I love my hair. Specifically, I love the color it is -- Mother Nature is highlighting it with gray and white and silver. I have a haircut now that suits its fine texture and stick-straightness, and emphasizes the color. I didn't always love it -- I've longed for curls and long hair so much of my life, and had perm after perm (that always damaged it, no matter how careful the stylists were), and enjoyed playing with highlights and lowlights to make it redder or blonder. I'm loving what it is like now and watching nature paint the highlights and lowlights.
5. I love my hands. Even though arthritis has done a number on my thumbs (started when I was barely 35), I still have good mobility and grip, and I like how my rings look on them: I wear my wedding ring on the left ring finger, and a Princess Di sapphire-diamond ring on the right ring finger, and my mother's engagement ring and my grandmother's wedding band on the right middle finger. They aren't big hands -- fairly narrow, with a long palm, and my middle finger is about as long as the palm. As a former nail-biter, I love how nice my nails look now when they're polished and filed. I treated myself to a professional manicure last week and really loved feeling so pampered. Ought to do that more often. I work with my hands -- I write -- and I've touched lovers and soothed babies and petted kitties with them. I dig in the dirt each spring when I plant my garden, and get dirt under the nails and lining the cuticles. I knead bread or shape pie crusts or cut out cookies with them; turn pages of books and newspapers, sew buttons or mend seams. They are working hands, not all soft and smooth, but they are gentle and loving hands. It's been a long time since they were raised in anger.
6. I love my height. Oh, I didn't when I was in junior high and high school and all the boys came up to my elbow. I felt too tall and gawky and uneasy in my long body. But my mother kept pushing me to stand up straight, to think queenly thoughts when I came into a room, to keep my head high, and eventually I enjoyed being tall. I can see things that short people can't. I can wear things that short people can't, and look dramatic doing it -- like capes and big hats. I can see over people's heads -- which helps in movies or plays, or when you're watching parades.
7. I like my figure, its proportion. I used to have a well-defined waist, but that's mostly straightened out. Nonetheless, I have broad shoulders, bust and hips are proportionate, and my waist is long. Yeah, things could be tighter, could be leaner, but overall I'm okay with it.
8. I love my ears. They're smallish, set close to my head, with nice, thin-but-rounded lobes. I got my ears pierced one weekend long ago when my college roommate and I decided to do drastic things to our appearances. She pierced my ears with a sterilized needle and ice to numb it (yeah, right), and I cut her hair into a pixie and frosted it with a do-it-yourself kit. We were both well pleased with our changes. I've always loved earrings and have big ones, dramatic ones, dainty pearls, small-but-sparkly diamonds, and the ubiquitous (and most often worn) plain gold hoops about the size of a quarter. I like howearrings look in my ears, and have thought about getting a second hole in each ear -- but haven't, and probably won't.
9. I love my curious mind. In less polite terms, I'm nosy. I like to know the details -- all of them, not just the facts, ma'm. It used to -- actually, it still does -- drive my daughter crazy because I'd keep asking questions and more questions about whatever she planned to do or is doing. I didn't mean it to irritate her; I just wanted to know the whos, whats, wheres, whys, and hows, and the names of everyone else involved. I'm a good Internet researcher and can tell you where a long-ago friend with whom I haven't been in touch for some 26 years is living and where she's employed, and even who she's living with. (Yes, you can run, but if you're on the Internet at all, you cannot hide!) As a writer, that curiosity serves me well and helps me tell a good story. It's not that I'm going to DO anything bad with all that information, understand, it's just that I like to know the whole story, and how it ends -- or at least where it is now.
10. I love my voice. I like that my speech is pitched a little lower than many women's voices, and I love the range of emotion and expression that it is capable of conveying. I like the precision -- the enunciation -- with which I mostly speak -- the result of many years of choral singing and college speech classes, where you learn to speak the 't's and the 'd's, the 'p's and the 'b's, but de-emphasize the 's's and 'r's, yet still pronouncing them clearly. I have a good vocal range -- or used to -- and can sing second alto or tenor in my chest voice but gust up to second soprano with my head voice. I like that I can speak to a full room and be heard without a microphone, but that's something I had to learn to control, since when I was young, I often spoke too loudly, and sometimes still do when I'm especially excited about something.
So there you have it. My choices surprised me a little. We need to be kinder to ourselves, to our appearance, and celebrate what we are rather than wishing we were something else. I'm glad I'm alive -- I'm grateful stuff still works! How about you?
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