You’d think at this age, I’d be completely independent, never needing the care my parents provided to me as a child. Most of the time, I don’t. I miss them, but I don’t think of them every day anymore. When I see their photos, I smile. I text my siblings when I think of something they’d laugh at.
When I don’t feel well, I want my mom. She’s not always the most maternal, but she cares.
I called her to check in and see how she’s doing and I started to cry. I try to always present the best possible face now that I am far away. There’s no point in making our occasional phone calls sad or maddening. As I’ve mentioned here before, I’m good at keeping it all together. I gloss over the negative, preferring to let her talk and vent.
Some days though, I feel a little less balanced, emotionally. Physical symptoms lead to a loosening of control.
I wish I could see them more often, I wish I had a way to have them all visit here. I wish I could learn to physically be in two places, the way my heart has figured it out.
I’ve found it hard to connect with people lately. Acquaintances, I can charm. I make a lot of people laugh, I meet a lot of people I would like to know better. I even think maybe they would like to know me as well. I just don’t have an easy time of converting those folks from strangers I kind of know to a friend I could invite for dinner or go shopping with.
It’s easier to keep people at a distance. It seems safer when they can’t get close enough to really hurt me. But, there’s the crux of it, I know. If I want to make a friend, a real, true friend, I have to accept they then have the power over me. Power to hurt my feelings, expose my soft tender parts to danger.
I have always found it’s easier to keep new people at arm’s length and so the fault lies only with myself. I need to learn to let it go, but I really don’t know how.
There is no photos here, so my apologies if you were hoping to see some cheeks.
It’s more about perception; and the need for a three-way mirror.
I try to dress in a way that’s flattering. I think I have my own weird style. I’m colorful, a little quirky, a little sexy. I love dresses and I’m usually not afraid of anything when it comes to fashion.
Last weekend I met my fear when I turned around in the bathroom.
I bought a dress for this upcoming wedding that was a bit bombshell-ish. I worried that I didn’t have quite enough bust for it, or that it would be too long and hit me at the wrong spot.
I thought it looked good in the mirror. It wasn’t perfect, but I thought it would work. I looked around and saw that the back wasn’t very flattering.
D was playing with the camera, so I asked him to take a shot so I could see how it would look from another angle. When looking at the photo, I saw a totally different picture. I am often too hard on myself, but this is truth, in my eyes. If I am looking in the mirror and NOT seeing things the right way, then something needs to change.
My perception, my ass. They need to change.
Sometimes I forget that my opinion is only that, an opinion. While I can influence decisions, I don’t get the chance to make them all. I think there’s a part of me that resents the events of the past few years and how they’ve led to where I am now.
I crave that. Deciding on something, implementing it and seeing how things change. I find it fascinating to analyze what’s working and what isn’t to make everything better. It’s harder when I can evaluate all this only to be met with a brick wall of an employer, unwilling to start new ideas without hemming and hawing for several weeks.
I am happy to be employed at a time when so many I know are struggling to find one or in fear, daily, that they’ll get that news. Still, I feel like I’m wasting my time trying to improve a business for someone uncomfortable with change.