Can I See Your ID?

In 8 days, I will turn 32. In case I had forgotten, my face was sure to remind me this morning when I woke up. Underneath my right eye, I noticed a new batch of wrinkles that had magically appeared overnight. With the evidence that I will now have to start adding "eye cream" to my already very tight budget, I remembered a similar instance a year ago, also the week before my birthday, when I found a random hair growing out of my neck. It was just there, on my neck, nowhere near my hairline, and it was very long. I promptly plucked it and stared at it in horror. How long had it been there? Did anybody notice? It just perched there, all long and black and whisker-y, between my fingers...laughing at me. Since then, I patrol the area daily for evidence of the hair's return, and any evidence that it has decided to recruit new hairs, but thankfully, so far, it seems to have been booked for a limited engagement.

I have never been terribly afraid of growing, or even looking, older. I have always understood that with age, comes wisdom. My knowledge has vastly increased since this time last year, and my new undereye crinkles are merely evidence of that. However, one does have to wonder exactly how old she looks when, not once, but twice, she is not carded to buy beer...because, you see, the cashier must ask for identification if you appear to be under the age of 40.

Wrinkles are no big deal, they're expected, even earned. Stray hairs are an unsightly nuisance, but also expected, and easily plucked. I am sure I have many things to look forward to as far as my body is concerned with each passing year. I prefer to view them as signs that I have made it this far...and I have a long way to go before I look like a raisin with white hair and coke bottle glasses. After all, beauty really is in the eye of the beholder. I behold that I look more beautiful with my wisdom than I ever could with foreign substances injected into my face.

I'm not saying I'm not vain. I dye my hair because I have had an ever-increasing collection of gray hairs since my mid-twenties. I plan outfits days, sometimes weeks or months in advance of a specific event. I still fight a daily battle with acne. I plucked the neck hair and willed it to never return. I will most likely purchase some type of anti-aging serum or eye cream in the future in an attempt to keep my skin healthy. I would never, however, expect to not have wrinkles. I would never take any sort of drastic step to rid myself of them. They tell a story, and as a storyteller, I feel they are fitting. So, in that respect, I like me, just as I am.

A Boy Named Lindsey

When I was little, I spent a lot of time with my twin cousins, Nate and Matt, who were the same age as me. I don't know if you've ever been around little boys, but they seem to have a severe aversion to anything girly. So, I decided to become a tomboy.When I first learned the meaning of this term, I approached my parents and informed them of my intentions. We had a long talk (likely less than 60 seconds) about what it means to be a tomboy. My father asked me seriously (likely with a voice quivering from laughter) if it was something toward which I could really commit. Looking back, I don't think they were particularly concerned, nor do I think they gave it a second thought. Sure, I could wear jeans, and t-shirts and baseball caps, but dressing as such does not a tomboy make. I soon learned, that climbing trees requires you to get dirty, and sometimes a little scraped up, and then there is the danger of falling...and don't even get me started on the bugs you run across on your way up. I've never been a big fan of bugs...or getting dirty and scraped up.

I did, however, like to play He-Man, but let's face it, when it comes down to the nitty gritty details...He-Men are dolls, they're just boy dolls (with the exception of She-Ra Princess of Power, of course), with plastic hair you can't brush, and clothes you can't change. When I was home with my sister, I would play Barbies with just as much committment and intensity. Even then, I loved creating a plot, and characters, and dialogue.

Despite the Barbies, and the pretty pink leotards I would wear to gymnastics class, I remained committed to the tomboy lifestyle...or my very own unique interpretation of it. To this day I'm still not sure if it was born of a desire to be more accepted by my boy cousins, or because I just wanted to be different from everyone else. Something I have learned through the years, though, is that there is no need to make an effort to be different. Just be yourself, and your unique "YOU" will show through. Once I let go of the facade I had tried to create, I discovered that the real me was even more interesting. I also discovered a wonderful feeling of being liberated. Once I stripped away the things I had been wearing in an effort to be accepted, I found that the ones who mattered were still there...and the ones who weren't there, no longer mattered. I didn't feel a loss, or a void. Quite the contrary, in fact.

The truth is, my cousins probably didn't care what I said, or wore, or did. They were little boys, who were certainly not concerned with fashion. We were never bored, and always had something to do, and we still have fun together now that we're adults. Perhaps there was some truth to my efforts. I am not a typical woman by any means. I don't like overtly girly things, like chick flicks (save a select few). Of course, with that being said, I do know that I am a Carrie...I used to think I was kind of a Miranda also, until she went back to Steve after he cheated on her. I am obsessed with fashion, and my biggest pet peeve is that I don't have the money or body to really express my love of style. I really do want someone special to surprise me with flowers on Valentine's day...no matter how much I try to convince others that I don't give a crap. I get just as excited about a new episode of "Glee" or "Once Upon A Time", as I do about a new episode of "The Walking Dead".

I'm not a tomboy, and I'm not a girly-girl. I'm simply, me. Unlike any other, and everything like myself.

You Say You Want A Resolution...

We are barely a week into the new year and I can't help but express how different I feel. I wanted to share it with all of you. I find myself brimming with optimism. In recent years, I have done my very best to see the bright side of even the most dire situations. I always want to believe that there is a light at the end of the tunnel. At times, I truly believe it down to my very core, and at other times, I have a little voice in my head telling me that I'm kidding myself and everybody else. Sometimes a person just can't help but feel defeated...completely deflated and hopeless. If you keep a positive attitude, those feelings will go away...if you are a "glass half-empty" kind of person, you won't just feel defeated, you actually will allow yourself to become defeated.

Monday morning, January 2, 2012, I stepped on the scale. I had put my "get healthy" plan on hold during the holidays, with the intention of resuming on the 2nd. It all started kind of inadvertently, back in the spring of 2011. While I no longer actively practice Catholicism, for some reason I feel compelled each year to observe Lent. I feel that it keeps me on my toes, and helps me develop new, good, habits. This past year, I chose to give up all soda, even diet. Now, this may or may not have caused me to drink more beer than usual, but that is neither here nor there. A couple weeks into the season, I felt better, and my pants fit better. By Easter, my pants didn't fit at all. In fact, they were literally falling off of me. I hadn't really set out to lose weight, but now that it was happening, I decided to begin paying more attention to the food I was eating. Not having a lot of money caused me to buy less groceries, which, in turn, meant I was also eating less food. I simply started making healthier choices and drinking a lot of water. I click through pictures from the past year, and in each one my face is just a little thinner than in the previous photo. I'm not on a diet, I'm on a mission to live a healthier life. Once Lent ended, I continued to forego the soda. Partly because of the weight loss, and partly because I simply lacked the desire to drink it.

So, after giving myself a 2-month break, I decided to weigh myself before I started back down the path of healthy living. I set a goal for myself to be too small for the smallest size at Lane Bryant by January 1, 2013, and I aim to accomplish that goal. I stepped on the scale, afraid to look down as the litany of holiday food I had consumed in the very recent past played over in my head. When I finally saw my weight, I was shocked...
I had lost 10 pounds during the holidays!?!?!?!

I was certain that I had, at the very least, remained at the weight I was when I decided to break. Somehow, though, I managed to lose 10 pounds. Through the shockingly large number of buckeyes, and the strata, and the rolls, the fat just managed to melt off my butt, much like the aforementioned foods melted in my mouth.
Will this keep me from jumping back on board with the healthy foods?

The answer is no, because even though I magically lost 10 pounds over the holidays, I felt like crap the entire time. The stuff I was eating was NOT healthy. I felt too full all the time and had heartburn for what seemed like two months straight. So, I've welcomed that good food back into my life with chubby, open arms. I feel great and I'm ready to take on 2012. I'm one step closer to bidding "adieu" to Lane Bryant forever.

But I think It's About Forgiveness...

Forgiveness is tricky. There are varying degrees of offenses. Deciding whether or not to forgive depends upon several factors. Dealing with repeat offenders, especially those you have forgiven before only to be let down once again, is trickier still. I've never quite perfected my own forgiveness technique. I have a tendency to go to extremes. I either forgive too easily, or I hold grudges far too long.

I have been thinking about this a lot lately. Sure, there are things that require penance, but what good does it do to make someone continue paying for something once their sentence is served? Especially if that person has actually made an honest effort to change their ways.You should eventually reach a point of either no longer caring, or acceptance that a trust was breached, or disrespect was shown, and begin toward a pleasant coexistence, or rebuilding of a relationship.

We all have someone we can't or don't wish to forgive. The one who was never there. The one who doesn't realize how great they have it or what they're missing. The one who betrayed. The one who lied. It all hurts, and it hurts more when you have to sit by and watch while someone you love has to bear the brunt. It's easy to say "I hate you", but it's not so easy to contemplate the reason, or notice when you're being too harsh...too blind. Typically, with such extreme sentiments, one only serves to cause their own suffering. Sometimes, it's just easier to let it go.

To be honest, I don't really know the right way to handle my discontent with others, nor do I know the correct formula for forgiveness. I clearly still have a lot of learning to do on the subject. I find myself becoming increasingly more accepting of the faults of some, while not entertaining even the slight possibility of giving others another chance. I suppose someone who has made many mistakes, yet keeps trying is more admirable than someone who hasn't made an effort in more than 30 years. Perhaps I am wrong. Maybe everybody deserves a chance to redeem themselves. I have a feeling I'll figure it out someday. Until then, I'm going to go with my gut. It fails me on occasion, but when that happens, I always find myself learning something valuable.