The Darndest Thing

Today's assignments, from Travelin'Oma.



I spent a week this summer with my family on our favorite plot of sand. I've been basking in the sand there since, well, the womb. But this time was different. I felt beautiful. In a swim suit. It was the darndest thing.

It really shouldn't make sense. It's just not logical. I didn't feel this great thirty pounds ago. Or ten years ago. Not even when my rock hard body was rehearsing Pas de Dix eight hours a day. I am (or was at least!) a ballet dancer. I couldn't help but stare in the mirror and compare myself to Kenna. She was perfect. One thing I've always liked is my height. But Kenna had it too. She also did her hair in this amazing french roll for class. I envied the way she wore her dainty little earrings atop her long neck. And she was nice, too. How dare she!

But here I was... basking, frolicking, jumping in the waves and bouncing from sea to shining sea. I don't know what it was that finally clicked inside my head. I think ultimately, it was a choice. I decided I would choose to feel free and beautiful. I decided I would let it all fly. I decided tomorrow may never come. I also realized that nobody cares. Nobody cares! Nobody cares about my muffin top, real or imaginary. They just want to enjoy my company, laugh with me, bask in the sun.

Let me tell you: it was wonderful. I wasted not one minute of the beautiful week tucking and pulling or covering up. Instead, I laid back in the sand. I never combed my salty hair. I got goosebumps drying in the sun. I got goosebumps because I felt like a goddess.

Surely, the process isn't complete. I am still trying to reconcile the photos from the trip. Wait! (I WAS SHOCKED!) That's not what I looked like that week! I was goddess of wind, sand, sea and salt... and that... well that, I'm afraid, is a sea hag.

Oh well, onward and upward. All in it's own time. If this is what aging is: to feel more comfortable and more confident by the day, then I can't wait. It feels really, really good. I like me. I think I'm beautiful.

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Dear friend,

I know you're worried about everyone under the sun. You feel responsible for everyone's happiness and success. Knowing you like I do, I know you will continue to feel responsible no matter how much you tell yourself others are responsible for their own happiness. But I trust your instincts. Maybe you are responsible for some of it, too. Maybe part of your job on earth is to be responsible for their happiness. I trust you will let go when the time is right. I trust your instincts. You seem like you always figure it out. You seem like you always do the right thing. Others' choices are not yours. You seem... like you know that.