July 23rd, 2012
I blog frequently about Body Image. In one of my posts Love. Your. Body. Now. using the juxtaposition of nudes I took in my 20s with nudes I took in my 40s, I seem to’ve finally accepted the way my body is now. It’s true that taking nudes at 46 in duplicate postures to the ones I took at 26, did give me a new sense of appreciation for the body I”m in today and genuinely convinced me to never get back down to the 120 lbs I weighed back then. That isn’t a healthy weight for a woman my age.
Maintaining what I have, I’ve realized isn’t as effortless as I initially thought it would be. No, the body continues to age. Just when you get comfortable in one spot, your body willfully changes again. That metabolism you thought couldn’t get any slower suddenly craps itself like Julie Moss at the finish line of the Kona Ironman.
It’s frustrating, embarrassing, irksome and just plain shitty. But we’ve got to keep running through the poop.
My constant self-appraisal is like a lot of addictions, I have to take it one day at a time. My goal for today is to only look in mirrors when absolutely necessary.
Like when you’re having a seance and you need to know if your dead Aunt Maureen is standing behind you wielding a battle ax.
Or when you have an unexpected lunch date with George Clooney and need to do a perimenopausal whisker sweep.
Or when you don’t want to look directly into your mother-in-law’s eyes and need to use the mirror as a buffer.
Or when you think you may have sat on bird guano before refereeing a pack of socially merciless Girls-Under-12 AYSO soccer players.
Or when you need to see if your boobs are even.
Other than that I am not looking into a mirror.
I’ve also decided that I’m going to think I look good in all photographs. Even the ones where my arm flesh looks like marbled beef. Or where my over-zealous chin seems to bleed out of frame all the way into Bangladesh. (My chin could bridge the gap at Camp David). I am going to look at all photographs of me and KNOW in my very bowels that regardless of what I see–in two years–I will think I looked marvelous. No matter how hideous I thought I looked I invariably think, “Hey, that’s not bad.”
Except for maybe this picture:
Or this one…
So for the remainder today, and maybe one day at a time for the rest of my life, less mirrors, no judging my photographs. I’ll judge yours of course. I have to have something to live for. But mostly I’m just going to keep running through the poop.
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