Wednesday, May 26, 2010

Sometimes it takes someone else's eyes to see clearly

Guess what?

I am not pretty.

No no!! Don't do it! Don't go to that place in your mind where you say "Aww... yes you are." I am not fishing for compliments here. The truth is that I am never gonna be a model. And yes, at the age of thirty-five I may or may not have just come to this conclusion. Though there was a time in my life when this was a "dream" of mine.

Ummm... yeah. Sweet perm, right? My sincerest apologies to whoever took this picture. I will give myself a break though. This picture is from right around the time I also thought that it would be cool to jump in a way-back machine and be a singer in the 60's. My secret fantasy was that I would go to the recording studio one day and meet the Monkees and Davey Jones would fall madly in love with me and I would live out my days playing tambourine duets and wearing go-go boots and hosting Tupperware parties in the Jones mansion.

I am a Nerd, yes. But model-pretty? No.

When I pull my hair back into a wet ponytail I look like my brother. (Not in a family-resemblance kind of way, but in an "is that a dude with boobs?" kind of way.)

My eyes are kinda squinty. (Especially when I smile. Is there such a thing as eye fat?)

I am hairy. (Like I started shaving my legs in the fifth grade and once in the sixth grade I shaved my arms, using the excuse that I had just gotten a cast off my wrist and the "doctor told me to do it." I discovered that the only thing less attractive than a forest of arm hair is arm stubble.)

I am freckly and wrinkly and have graying hair and have been occasionally mistaken for pregnant when I am not.

I have a funny crooked front tooth.

My face is kinda red all the time.

I am not pretty. And I have obsessed over it. Tried everything to change that. Tried not caring about it. (Ha!) And it hasn't been until recently that I could really look at myself in any other way besides being tied to those flaws.

It looks like I laugh boldly, I was told.

And that is beautiful.



  1. Well, like that brilliant poet once said, A truth told with bad intent, beats all the lies you invent!...

    I guess there is absolutely nothing wrong to honest about one's self.

  2. Well, I guess many of life's truths are only truths from one perspective or another. I may be 36, with a donut where a six pack should be, and I too have the distiguished look of the incoming gray hair. From my point of veiw there are many physical things, that would be better, if they were changed, but like you I am content with who I am. I guess its because my perspective is that I am a good friend, a loving father, and a devoted husband. I have been more of a positive influence than a negative one, and I have had the great honor, of knowing great people... including an amazing writer, mother, and friend... who just happens to be a hairy, freckled, would be model/tamborine playing tupperware party hosting former lifeguard and swim instructor who by the way knows all the words to little ducky duttles... You may not be the physical image that you once dreamed of but you are still an incredible YOUNG woman. its my great pleasure to share my perspective with you... miss seeing you everyday.

  3. The most liberating thing about growing up and being a mom is finding that while I wished I looked better on the outside (less squishy, less gray, less sloppy in my clothing, etc.), I care more about how I look and feel on the inside.

    I might be lying about that last part, but I wish definitely care less about the outside than I used to!

  4. I cannot say that I am not still intrigued by anything that promises to make me look better (there is a new makeup that you put on with a ROLLER! I don't know whether or not to be out purchasing it or totally offended by the idea.) But what I have realized is that the best compliments I have received have not had anything to do with physical appearance. If I can be someone with the guts to laugh boldly, then maybe the crooked bottom lip doesn't matter as much as I thought.