Like so many women, I have a tendency to be pretty damn hard on myself. Lately I have taken to excessively worrying about my neck and laugh lines, going so far as to contemplate the merits of Botox, something I swore I would never do. My beloved Spousal Unit tries his best to lift me up when I get in these states when I just want to wear a full length brown paper bag but I know it’s got to wear on him because the truth is it wears on me.
Last night I was screwing around and tweeted that “a sexy mind trumps all” and while I said it in a half assed way, it truly hit me, my mind is sexy. Fuck! My mind at 39 is far sexier than it was years ago when my body was in tip top shape. Yet despite all the work I have been doing on my mind, I get stuck on the body and blow all the great work I have been doing on my mind. The truth is my body is awesome, it’s grown and birthed, not one but two humans, it nourished one of those humans outside of my womb and thanks to three years of yoga, I can do shit I never dreamed possible.
Sure, I am carrying a few extra pounds, so what? In fact haven taken the advice of a few tweeps, I decided to add a few pieces to my wardrobe since while my plan of wearing nothing but my workout clothes until I shed these few pounds sounded good to my wallet, it did nothing for my mental state. In fact, wearing ill-fitting clothes is a sure fire way to feel like shit, frugality is good but not if it means putting yourself in a funky state.
Today is one of those days professionally when everything is going to hell in a hand basket, yet I realized as I stepped outside that I felt pretty, oh so pretty and it felt pretty damn good! Now let me get back to work.
PS: This post by Cecily K was one of the inspirations for this post.