June 17, 2003

• Figuring it all out ...

  
  

  Today is the last day of my 30's.  My birthday celebration officially began when we pulled out of our driveway headed to Florida seven days ago.  So I've had an entire week to think about it, enjoy it, dread it, and internalize it.  I'm entering a new decade.  (Yes, I'm still on vacation but my husband brought his work laptop so from time to time it's available to me for checking email and writing the emergency Xanga post.)

  
  

  When I turned 30 I spent at least six months in a state of wonder, "I can't believe I'm 30 years old and I still haven't ..."  For some reason each new experience was a surprise and a delight.  Being 30 actually felt much younger than 29 because at 29 I wasn't taking notice of the little things.  At 30 each new moment, every novel experience felt like a gift that had been held in reserve for me.   My 30s at least in the beginning were all about feelings.   

  
  

  So far 40 seems to be largely about appearance.  I've never considered myself to be an especially attractive person.  Even when I was at or near my ideal weight I felt large and awkward.  Any level of reality check should have disabused me of the notion, there is no way that a 5 foot nothing woman weighing 115 pounds could ever be described as "large."  But self-image and concept, I've learned is rarely about reality.  

  
  

  Now in addition to my worries about size I have the added concern that the 40 year old face has character written all over it.  I have laugh lines at the corners of my eyes, and the fold at the corner of my mouth isn't just a dimple.   When I meet people I've known only through the Internet, it's a primary concern that I won't be as attractive in person as they have imagined me from reading this site.   You know, if I thought that the people meeting me expected me to be as shallow as apparently I think they are, I'd be offended.

  
  

  Part of my taking a look at myself has been taking a good look at the people around me.  Really stopping to think about who I find to be attractive and who I don't.  Now this may reveal that I do in fact possess the depths of a wading pool, but I've been surprised to realize that what I find to be attractive is far far removed from the images I've seen in magazines and on the screen.  Honestly, how self-UNaware can one person be?  Or maybe it's a lack of confidence in my own judgment that I think well, yes *I* think that so and so is a beautiful person, but hey, I could be wrong.  I'm becoming disgusted with myself as I'm typing this.  Of course there is an element of truth in the notion that beauty is in the eye of the beholder, but it seems to me that I've never given myself true beholder status. 

  
  

  Take for instance the woman vacationing in the condo next to mine.  I'm not in the habit of "checking out women" but every time this woman walks past she has my undivided attention.  She may possess the single most beautiful body I've ever seen.  I estimate that she's in her early 30's (no laugh lines at the corners of her eyes) and I know that she's given birth.  Yes, there are a couple of children calling her mom, but I would have known anyway because of the thin stretch marks on her rounded belly.  I'm guessing that she's about seven inches taller than I am and I'd also guess that her jeans would be a size 16.  She is gorgeous.  I've been trying to figure out exactly what it is that makes her so beautiful.  She has an average face, and soft proportions.  Part of it is her interaction with her family, much of it is the way that she moves.   I've finally decided that the main reason that she appears beautiful is that she so obviously feels beautiful.  I don't mean vain.  I don't sense any of the very unattractive pridefulness of vanity.  I mean that she's a woman completely comfortable with her appearance and that's something I've only seen a few times in 40 years.  Its magnetic. 

  
  

  Appearance has been a big topic of conversation on this trip.  My sister has recently lost 70 pounds and is adjusting her perceptions of herself to fit her new proportions and reality.  My friend Maureen has always been small, but she has her own issues.  When Maureen was a very young woman she was in a car accident that almost destroyed her face.  Her jaw was broken in several places and she has a network of scars that crisscross her cheeks and chin.  To her these scars are a big deal.  To me, well, I had known her for over a year before I ever realized that she had scars.  When Tim and I talk about new people we, meet one of the standards we use for description is whether the person is as pretty as Maureen.  Kate, the 19 year old, has expressed her own discomfort at having a body that doesn't fit the airbrushed images that she's internalized as the standard for female beauty.

  
  

  I've been trying to figure out how to download pictures from my digital camera to Tim's laptop so I could show you our motley crew and you would have a frame of reference for my musings.  I'm not the most intuitive user on the planet and I can't seem to make the camera talk to the computer.  sigh.  I'll keep trying.

  • 10:50 am
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