Impossible, for a plain yellow pumpkin to become a golden carriage.
I look in the mirror some days and I don’t even recognize myself. Where did my flat tummy go? Why is my hair frizzier than I remember? How did these lines appear everywhere?
I don’t much like mirrors so I tend to stay away from them. Mirrors, car windows, switched off monitors and screens, large glass windows with just the right glare that gives you a full reflection of your midday grunge. Yeah, I avoid looking into all of those.
I am surrounded by good looking people all day long. And with avoiding my own reflection it is so easy for me to forget that I don’t look like them. That I don’t fit into their manicured, toned, contoured image. So, when I do see myself, REALLY see myself, it is simple for the running list of comparisons to multiply.
My butt is dimplier. My arms are flabbier. My makeup is smeared and my nailpolish is chipped. Why don’t their legs do that jiggle thing that mine do? Why can’t I be just as beautiful as they are?
Impossible for a plain country bumpkin and a prince to join in marriage.
Then I remember that I avoid mirrors for this exact reason. The verse that gets stuck on repeat in my brain that says, “I am not good enough. I must change this thing and that thing to truly be happy, just like them” is incredibly maddening! I am willing to bet that they, too, look in their mirrors and see lines and pounds that once were not there. I would guess that they look at others and wish they had something they don’t.
I remember that this feeling is exactly why I freed myself from this gross, entangled web of girlisms some years ago. I fully embraced my weirdness and my preferred beauty and hygiene routines and my foul distaste for wearing pants. I owned my crazy curls and my big bunion toe and my knees that don’t bend. And when I did this, when I let myself be untroubled with who I am (or am not), I found that I really liked parts of me that I was too blind to see before. I have super soft skin, like, baby bottom soft. And my eyes are some kind of blue that makes people stop and stare. I really like that my feet are the same size they were in 6th grade. I have eyebrows that the kids tell me are “on fleek” or something so I’ve got that goin’ for me.
On that note, I walk away from my mirror, stroke my silky smooth skin and focus on what matters more to me: my happiness. I might not be the prettiest I have ever been in my life but I am content and I am healthy and I am enough for the people who matter most. They fill my life with laughter and joy and make me feel prettier than Cinderella at the ball.
And because these daft and dewy-eyed dopes keep building up impossible hopes, impossible, things are happening every day.