25 Loves – I’m Working On It
A couple of months ago, for our 25th wedding anniversary, I posted 25 things I love about my husband.
Well, it’s my birthday (What, again?) and I thought I would post 25 things that I love about myself.
But I could only think of five.
#1 My creativity. I love that I can write. I love what I write. I love my blog, my novel, and my manuscript for novel #2. And my occasional poem. Writing gives me joy. Without writing, my life would be less.
#2 My optimism. I love that I see the best in people. I don’t attribute bad intentions. I don’t suspect. I look for the good in everyone and in life. Sometimes I am disappointed. Not often.
#3 My memory. I have an astonishing memory. Not only does that feed my blog with everything that has ever happened – (and see #1 for the embellishment I may give those recollections in order to make good stories) – but it also allows me to sing along in the car to decades worth of music. I can sing to Chubby Checker AND to Pink. I love that.
#4 My womanhood. I am a girly-girl. I love it. I’ve never envied men. Never. I get to wear jewelry and makeup and beautiful colors. And … (a BIG ‘And’ here) … I get to do all kinds of other stuff. I can drive. I can pay bills. I can figure out apps on the computer. I can cook. I can buy a house. I can go to school. I can travel alone. I can walk in high heels. I can protest. I can be an astronaut if I wanted to. Just because I wear mascara does not mean I can’t wear it in space.
#5 My looks. I think I am quite pretty. I would never have said this at 16. Or 26. Or 36, 46. 56. I hated the way I looked. But here I am – 66 today – and I like the way I look. I think there are three reasons why this could happen:
- A) I understand after all these years how to make the most of what I’ve got;
- B) I was always pretty, but I just didn’t recognize it;
- C) I have actually and miraculously gotten prettier as I aged.
In my case, I think the answer is
- D) All of the above.
So okay. That’s five. How come I can come up with 25 things I love about my husband, but only five about myself?
What I need to do this year is to get busy finding more things to love about myself.
Here are the 20 things that in the coming year I am going try to love about me:
- My neck. I’ve always hated it because it was short and thick. I wanted an Audrey Hepburn neck. But you know, I got this neck from my Dad. It worked for him. It holds my head up just fine. I haven’t got time to worry about it anymore.
- My Yoga skills. I’ve been practicing Yoga for 15 years, and I am still in the beginner’s class. I always will be. But who cares? I like Yoga. I don’t have to be good at everything.
- My cooking. Not great. But not bad. I can’t flip an egg, but I can make a fabulous broken egg. Omelettes are delicious.
- My laziness. There are advantages to being lazy. It has kept me from obsessing about housework, for example. And from becoming completely Type-A crazy.
- My voice. Never liked to hear myself. Fast, high, overly dramatic. But maybe, just maybe, it’s part of my uniqueness.
- My bravery. I never thought I was very brave. How I wished I were braver. But I see now that I put myself out there for people to judge every time I write something. That’s sort of brave.
- My dancing ability. My husband hates to dance, so I go to Zumba class. I can’t undulate my butt like some of the women. But I am getting to be a sexy dancer. Sexy. Me. Sexy.
- My clothes-folding talent. I can fold clothes like Marie Kondo. I don’t always do it. But I can.
- My introversion. There have been times when I wished I was more outgoing. But I like my alone time. I like the quiet. I like my own company.
- My eclectic taste. I like opera and hiphop. I like Monet and The Far Side. I like “The West Wing” and “Say Yes To The Dress”. I like “My Dinner With Andre” and “Airplane!” I like Wordsworth and Billy Collins. I won’t let my lesser tastes embarrass me.
- My small breasts. I’m in my sixties. I don’t sag.
- My happiness with small things. I’m pleased with a new lipstick. With a pen that writes beautifully. With potato chips.
- My artistic ability. My paintings aren’t awe-inspiring. But they aren’t awful either. When I was sixteen my parents surprised me with a set of oil paints, brushes, and canvasses. They thought I was good enough for the good stuff. I will believe them.
- My teeth. Years ago a friend told me I had weird teeth. A few years later a boyfriend asked whether I wore braces as a kid, because my teeth were so perfect. My teeth are neither weird nor perfect. But the ones in front (the ones that show) are pretty straight.
- My pickiness. I refuse to be ashamed that there’s stuff I don’t want to eat. I am a grown-up now. I get to choose. I do not have to eat what I don’t like.
- My skin. Not just my complexion, which despite some age spots, is pretty good. All my skin. It’s lovely. Smooth, soft. It keeps my insides in.
- My sense of style. It’s magnificent. And so is everyone else’s.
- My ability to forgive. I don’t hold a grudge. I don’t stay mad. I usually don’t even get mad. I don’t even have a resting bitch face.
- My sense of humor. I can make myself laugh. I can make everyone laugh. I cheer people up. Lately, this is a precious gift.
- My family. This is a big one. The older I get the more I love my mother, my sisters and my brother. And everyone else I am related to, by birth or by marriage. They are loving and kind. They are mine. And they like me the way I am.
Each year on my birthday, I post an unretouched photo of myself. Its purpose is twofold:
To say to the world, “Aging isn’t so bad.”
And to say to Mother Nature, “Aging may not be bad, but I’m not going down without a fight!”
Today is no exception. This photo is not retouched in any way. I did, however, take advantage of some very nice natural light.
Here I am – 66 today!