It's a love thing

Well. Now that I've caught up (mostly) on midterm grading, I can get back on here and let some thoughts out of my head.

So, the seasons have changed, the temperatures have dropped, and the summer clothes have been packed away. I always love getting my fall and winter sweaters out of their boxes. They are so familiar. And yet, this year felt different somehow. I took my sweaters out and had one thought: "Borrrring." I really felt discouraged because I was looking forward to wearing nice, new outfits to work, but all I found in the boxes were...my clothes from last year.

Duh.

For whatever reason, I put a lot more clothes in the donation bag this year than I usually do. And then, of course, I bought a lot more new clothes for this season than I usually do. (But hey--I shop and thrift stores and, when I feel like treating myself to "new" clothes, Target. I'm not exactly breaking the bank.)

I've been thinking a lot about why I felt so bored and discouraged by my wardrobe this year. Even a week after buying some sweaters at the thrift store, I feel like I need to infuse my closet with more color. I want form-fitting pants. I need black boots.

Never before have I been so concerned about what I'm wearing. This has almost reached the point of obsession. The theme of all this is: How can I look more feminine? How can I feel good about myself as a woman?

I thought it was because of my hair loss, that I'm compensating for being bald. But now I think it's much, much deeper. I think I really struggle with feeling worthy. I feel unworthy of attention unless I'm "pretty", undeserving of care unless I'm sick or struggling with some burden, and unworthy of love based on who I am and not how I behave.

I'm not quite sure where this comes from. I grew up in a home with two parents who loved me. We had a lot of issues, true, but I was loved. And I was told that I was loved.

Still, the more I feel unloved inside, the more I try to make the outside look as appealing as possible. By purging my closet and then refilling it over and over, I am actually running away from the real issue: I need to learn to love myself. The outer confidence will come from that inner love. I found this blog that has some tips for ways you can practice thinking of yourself in terms of a person who can be loved:

"How to Love Yourself" from glamdolleaston

The only thing I would add is this:  Inner love will come when I see myself as God sees me--and when I accept that God loves me no matter what.

Modest Me

I love fall for so many reasons, not the least of which is this:


(from Fashionista Trends)

Fall outifts! No pressure to walk around in itsy bitsy teeny weeny non-clothes. 'Tis the season of sweaters, jeans, scarves...and minimal skin exposure.

When I was a kid, I was known for rocking the "old lady" style. Long skirts, long pants, long sleeves. Modesty to the point where family members took it upon themselves to remind me that I was a girl and could show it once in awhile.

A late, late, late bloomer, I finally started wearing tank-tops (gasp!) in college. And short shorts. Once I even walked around in a sports bra with nothing else on top. Scandalous, I know.

For the last few summers, I have actually felt pretty good about my body and my ability to wear clothes that show a lot more skin than I ever thought I'd be comfortable showing. I mean, nothing trashy. But still, my dresses were shorter than ever before, and my shoulders saw a lot more sun than usual. This summer, however, I felt overexposed. Maybe it's because I work with a lot of Muslim women, and my daughter goes to a school where so many different cultures are represented (in large part through fashion choices). Or it could be that my daughter is getting older, and I want her to be protected. Maybe it came with dressing for a professional work environment. Maybe it's just because I'm getting older. Whatever the reason, I'm getting sick of seeing skin. It takes no creativity to bare your body. But to dress modestly in a way that is still lovely and feminine? That is more artful.

(I truly hope that the picture below is not offensive to any Muslims. I only want to illustrate a point about the contrast between differing standards of clothing for women.)

Look at this picture:



Maybe it's just me, but I find the modest clothing so strikingly beautiful. An outfit like that shifts the focus from the body to the overall design.

Please understand, this is not meant to be a religious commentary. I am totally unqualified to write about Islamic codes of ethics or laws. I'm also not trying to bring judgement down on women who like to show some skin. I actually do think it's important for women of all shapes, sizes and colors to challenge the idea of which body types are "allowed" to be shown off publicly. I'm just trying to redefine what I personally see as beautiful. My own definition of what a beautiful woman "should" look like dictates my buying decisions and my level of confidence as I live in the world. I don't want to be boxed into thinking that I can only be identified as a beautiful woman if I wear clothes that reveal my feminine body.

It has been important for my growth to be able to wear clothes that make me feel lovely--and to recognize that I really do deserve to be lovely. Now I'm simply owning the fact that I really do appreciate my body enough to guard it. I realize that I actually don't want men in general to see too much of my unclothed skin.

And I really think society is coming back around to more modesty. Say what you will--a quick web search will show you that modest fashion is making a huge comeback. Not that it ever went away, but it's getting more glory now.

I'm so looking forward to putting beautiful outfits together for the fall and winter--outfits that are aesthetically pleasing, colorful, creative, and reflective of my personality and values. I'll try to post pictures of what I come up with. Until then, check these looks out!



You can't go wrong if you model your look after Princess Kate.


Why not bring the jumpsuit back?

(Check out this great modest fashion blog, Clothed Much, here.)


Sweater dress. Oh yes.

(Shop for modest fashion at Mikarose!)

Bare or covered, be beautiful you. Be true to your values.

Secret Selfie

I wore hair the other night. And then I posted a picture of it on Instagram, which also ended up on Facebook:



A friend told me that I was obviously insecure and looking for affirmation.

The funny thing is that I did get a lot more "likes" on this picture than I usually get. Maybe I was just looking for an ego boost because I'm insecure. Or...perhaps I was just playing by the rules.

Facebook is such an interesting world--at least the way I use and experience it. A post about a new hairstyle blows up with 50 likes in a minute, a new baby gets over 100 in the same amount of time, and a homemade flower arrangement gets 17-20. A post about an organization rescuing young girls from the sex trade gets...a few likes. Maybe one share.

I used to get upset about that, but I think now I just accept the fact that Facebook has its uses. For me, it's not a place to get a message across. I've tried--it doesn't work in my circle of "Friends". No--I mostly use it for keeping my mom and sister up-to-date on my latest style (given that I had no style in all my years living at home) and getting sympathy and attention when I need a quick fix. I can get those things either by posting a vague yet clearly distressed status ("Days like this make me want to hop on a bus to Texas, change my name and become a bartender") or, as in the case above, by posting a carefully-crafted picture of myself that I know looks really good. I just pretend I don't know it looks good.

Is that bad? I think about friends and family who have posted "selfies". I recognize that they are putting themselves (or one version of themselves) out there, on display, in a show of vulnerability. They/we are looking for acceptance and confirmation of the beauty we think we see in ourselves. When I post a selfie, I know I will get lots of comments. People are always anxious to tell me how good I look because, well, I'm a bald woman and need a lot of encouragement. So I post a nice-looking picture to get a few oohs and aahs. Sue me.

When we make a change that we feel good about or accomplish something we're proud of, we want to share it. People have always done this--now the audience is just bigger. Rather than asking your man if you look fat in your newest mall purchase, you can ask 400 people at the same time. And they will answer you, because they are looking for meaning in the world of appearances as well.

So yes, it is shallow. But it also speaks to something that runs pretty deep, actually. Something that I write about over and over again. If there were no audience, would we still be posting selfies? Why not? Why do we need to know that someone else will be looking at our picture before we decide to take one? Why not take a selfie just for myself?

That's my challenge for you tonight/today/this week. Take some selfies and don't show anyone. In fact, take your best selfie ever and don't show anyone. At least not for awhile. Appreciate your own beauty without the need to measure it against any standards. Fill yourself with contentment that does not come from outer praise, but from inner recognition of your place in creation (Hint: you are the crowning jewel).

If you come to this place of self-love, then you can post your picture if you want. We will all love it. No one will judge you for posting a picture of yourself just to get attention. We all do it. We all want the world to know what we look like whenever we do something that looks good. Nothing wrong with that...as long as it's not identity-forming.

A little bleeding now and then

What a mess I was today. Let me give you a picture of what I looked like at about 2:00 in the afternoon:
--a new pair of shoes had given me a bloody heel, which stained the hem of my pants;
--my earlobe was bleeding from a cheap metal earring;
--days and days of nervous finger-picking had left most of my fingers scraped and raw;
--and, I over-squeezed the teeniest little blemish on my face, leaving an oozing red blood blister.

And I didn't care.

If I had run into anyone outside, I would have stayed and chatted head-on as the occasion called for instead of pretending to get a phone call or strategically turning my face to expose my unblemished side.

I guess I've just been too tired to care lately. Either that, or I feel older. Two years ago, or even last year, all I cared about was looking good. Now, I still try to look good, but I just don't put the same amount of time and energy into it. And I feel much more free. Why try to hide my humanity?

I have a challenge for you. Give yourself a blemish. Not literally. I mean, dare to let some raw, real part of yourself see daylight. If you're bleeding, let it show instead of smearing it over with cover-up. Then take a step back and get some perspective. There are so many facets to daily human existence--do you really have the energy to fret over the assumed perception that you have both invented and yet also fear to face?

All Dressed Up

How many of you feel like it's a waste to get dressed up if no one will see you? I get these nice work digs on, drive to work, sit in the tutoring center with no customers, and then drive home to change clothes. By the time my husband gets home, I'm "bald, sweatpants, food stains" mom. I will often stay in my work clothes until he gets home, no matter how uncomfortable I am. Then, of course, I end up getting taco sauce or vegetable oil on my nice clothes. But what's the point of looking nice if no one's looking?

Why can't I just be good enough for myself?

Here's my plan:

Step 1. I'm on the hunt for super cute lounging clothes that I can feel sexy in at home.
Step 2. Time to invest in more big, dangly earrings. They dress anything up!
Step 3. Sending pics of my fancy self to hubby at work? Why not?!
Step 4. Look in the mirror at work and say "Wow, you look really nice, honey." And believe it.
Step 5. Go to the grocery store in dumpy clothes whenever I can to break the habit of wondering what people, men in particular, think of how I look.

What would you do?

Worth 1,000 words

"You're so beautiful."

"You can really pull off the bald look."

"Bald girls are sexy."

All of these lines and more have been told to me at some point since the onset of my alopecia. You'd think by now that they would have sunk in.

The problem is, a picture is worth a thousand words. And my identity and definition of beauty have been shaped by millions of images that don't reflect the truth of the words people tell me. I don't think in words; I think in pictures.

Pictures like this:



The princess with the long, golden locks shining in the sunlight. The dashing rogue kissing her in all her feminine loveliness. Well, if that had been a bald princess, the "man in black" would probably have fallen off the tower as his hand slipped off her smooth scalp...

Or this:


The mother of all hot kissing scenes. Sadly, kissing in the rain is not sexy when you're a bald woman. If you're wearing a scarf, it turns into a sopping rag plastered on your head. You can't brush that away from a lady's face. If you're wearing a wig, you turn into a wet dog--PLUS, the netting underneath shows through. If you happen to be sans headcover in the rain, then a wet mack session would turn into a manual slip 'n' slide for your partner. Maybe that would be sexy...but it's unlikely.

Ah yes, this one:



It goes without saying that this is an impossible look for a bald woman to pull off. And a scarf or wig in the wind? Too precarious.

Countless, endless images that do not represent me, yet continue to define what I want my life to look like. When I kiss my husband, I look at us from the outside and I cringe. Can you imagine a man kissing a bald woman and it looking even remotely romantic? Probably not. That's because there are no images of that to get into our psyche.

So, I'm on a search for some new pictures. Here are a few I found:


Rosanna Savone, bald bride and author of liv.luhv.rahyt (See it and love it here).


Kylie, another beautiful bald bride (read her story here).




Stefania Ferrario, model (check out her page here).


Sandra Dubose-Gibson, Mrs. Black North Carolina 2011 (See the full story here).


The only image I could find of a man kissing a bald girl...we need to work on that.

And, finally, I will add what I can to this growing bank of images:

A bald woman and a mirror. Not usually seen together.

So--if you find anymore for me, send them to redefinelabelleza@gmail.com or post them to my Facebook page!

Farewell?

Jennifer Lopez. I have loved her ever since Selena.

But I have to admit, she's not exactly a healthy role model. I mean, she's not someone I would want my daughter to emulate.



She seems very down-to-earth in interviews, but I have to wonder about a mom in her forties who does a photo shoot like this for publicity. I really hope I'm not coming off as judgmental here--I have just realized how important it is for me to examine what or who I follow in order to have integrity as the author and promoter of this blog. I'm using her as an example, but I could just as easily be talking about Madonna. Or Cher. Or etc., etc., etc.

Performers like Jennifer Lopez are in the entertainment business. They do whatever it takes to sell records. As a listener, I fund their message. And most often, their message is that sex sells and women are valued for their sexual potential. Sex appeal is even valued over motherhood:


(http://www.lhrtimes.com/2013/01/18/jennifer-lopez-would-like-to-have-more-children-134793/)

So I am faced with a dilemma: I love to sing and dance to her music. I mean, I really love it. But, her message gets into my head and my soul through the lyrics, the beat, the dance moves, the video--it's all affecting how I see myself and define beauty, whether I want to admit it or not.

So, do I totally ban her from my playlist? Or do I listen to my favorite songs once in awhile but don't endorse the videos? Or...do I chill out and try not to overthink this?

Some days I am convinced that it's fine to listen to popular radio now and then. I tell myself I really like the beat (which I do so much that I can't drive my car straight if I have dance music on) and that the music is not a problem for me. Other days I feel slimy listening to the radio, as if my soul were twerking off in a dark, sweaty club.

The problem with trying to stay true to the message of this blog is that cultural definitions of beauty and its enmeshment with sex are so pervasive that I would have to make some radical lifestyle changes in order to make any real stand. I couldn't listen to the radio, I would have to totally clean up my Spotify playlists and find new music to clean the house to, and I definitely couldn't go to Zumba. Which would suck.

When does "just feeling good" about music and developing some confidence as a living-room-only dancer cross over into the dark territory of complicity in the world's efforts to taint true beauty and keep women in subordinate citizenship through sexual objectification and enslavement?!

Sorry J-Lo, you might have to go.

I know our culture is hostile to any message that preaches radical lifestyle change (unless it's a diet), but I really think the benefits of a strict "no sex object" diet from my entertainment intake are worth examining, at least as this blog's creator.

What do you think? Am I being a little over-the-top, or is this just what the doctor ordered for the upcoming generation?

What A Mess

I had a mommy moment tonight. I had to run out to the pharmacy this evening, and as I was strutting along in my electric blue scarf and T-shirt (my best color), I was feeling pretty good about the looks I was getting. Yes, I thought, I'm one hot momma.

Well, I didn't think that exactly. But I did feel pretty, confident, and young.

Then I happened to look down at my shirt (okay, I was trying to gauge how much I needed to suck in my chili-and-cornbread-belly so people wouldn't think it was a baby bump)--and I had to laugh.

I had big splatters of chili all over it. No wonder I was getting looks....

I have had more of those moments recently. I will be feeling good about how I look, and then I'll go into the bathroom and see that my scarf has gotten all crooked, or I accidentally rubbed the eyeliner off half of one eye, or I only have one earring...or, worst of all, I have some little tiny crust of something right at the tip of my nostril. And then I'm deflated.

But I think moments like these are incredibly important. When I saw what a mess I was tonight, I was reminded of the evening I spent watching my kids try something new for them (but an old family tradition I grew up with--cornbread in a glass of milk), and I knew where my place was. My place is not out in a singles bar or turning heads at a grocery store. It's in my home, eating chili and cornbread with my kids after a day of apple picking and wagon rides.

My place is walking along the lake shore on a blustery fall day, even if it means walking into work with a crooked scarf and crusty leftovers in my nostril.

We are real people. We are not poster images. When we walk to the pharmacy, we are telling the world a story about who we are and how we lived our lives that day. Tonight, I told people that I ate a big meal and didn't feel the need to change my messy clothes in order to please them. I told people that I spent the day outside and got a funny tan line from my scarf and sunglasses.

I bet people envied me.

What story will you tell when you walk out the door tomorrow?

Talent Redefined--The Classy Boy Group

Boy Bands. What a brilliant marketing strategy it was to take the concept of actually playing an instrument out of the word "band" and find pretty boys to dance in sync (yeah, I just went there) on stage instead. Now, I grew up with New Kids on the Block, Backstreet Boys, NSYNC--all of which provided a light-hearted soundtrack for my childhood and adolescence.

But...if I had to choose a "boy band" for my daughter to follow, I would choose the fine young gentlemen of Il Volo. I don't know if any of these boys play instruments or not, so I will refer to them as a "group"--a classy boy group. I heard them on NPR today and had to come home and Google them--and I was shocked by how young they are! Their voices conjured images of thirty-year-old men, when really they are not out of teen years yet. Speaking of teens, I wonder if these boys were ever teased about the type of music they sang.

At any rate, I definitely think these guys deserve to be on my "Talent Redefined" list, not only for the quality of their voices and heavenly harmonies, but because they know what "class" means on stage.

Talent Redefined--Oh, Billy!

Remember this kid?



I saw him live one summer, probably the same year as this video, and I was totally blown away by his stage presence. He was so cute, confident, and charismatic.

And then I never heard from him again.

Billy Gilman. A child star growing up out of the limelight because he didn't do anything shocking enough to make it onto a magazine cover. He had a beautiful voice, his had a hit song or two, and then he did what so many wholesome young stars are not able to do: he stayed true to himself. He didn't sell out. And his family/friends/agents didn't sell him out, either.

Instead of crossing over from country to pop and making videos with little half-naked teeny boppers batting their eyes and grinding on him, he got involved with the Muscular Dystrophy Association. Here he is in 2008, a few years older and even cuter than he was when he was twelve:



I love that he chose to use his talent for something like this. Now you might be wondering what he's up to today, right? Well, putting this together:



Say what you will about Billy's songs, charity compilations, or country music in general--you can't deny that Billy Gilman exemplifies the redefinition of using talent for gain. Even if you put aside the fact that he is using his talent to raise money for people who don't have the resources to provide for themselves, he still deserves more exposure and recognition because he's just plain talented. Consistent on-pitch vocals, engaging stage presence, he's got it all.

More Billy Gilman vids:

http://youtu.be/MIWU7fhxThA

http://youtu.be/Q5dqAoEsURg

http://youtu.be/wXWNLRenWv0

http://youtu.be/ggs-X_HJvtY

Humble Artistry

I came across this blog via Facebook, and this post really caught my attention:

"Collaborating with a 4-year-Old"
(http://busymockingbird.com/2013/08/27/collaborating-with-a-4-year-old/)



I love unpretentious art. I recently wandered through a local museum and found myself wondering why some art is considered "masterful", while other pieces may be obviously amateurish. I mean, I have done some things in a sketchbook with watercolor that I thought were really interesting to look at. Not refined, certainly, but interesting. Like this:



I actually do think it's pretty childish when I look at it. But what's wrong with childish art? Art is a window into how the artist views the world. And I'm all for anything that promotes and produces empathy.

So, getting back to this blog post I read, I just loved the writer's confession that sharing a sketchpad with a four-year-old was not easy. I feel the same way when my daughter and I are coloring together, and she suddenly wants to color on my page. I have worked so hard to stay in the lines and have even accomplished some nice shading (hard to do with crayons), and here she comes with her wild, scribbling hand. With neon orange, no less.

But the writer of this post was able to move beyond that initial ownership into co-ownership. And the art that came out of the collaboration is really interesting. Some will love it and see it as innovative and insightful, and others will feel uncomfortable looking at it. I think it's really great. I love that an artist was able to redefine what kind of art was "good" enough to make it into her sketchbook and on her blog.

We should all open those areas of our lives where we want to control the finished product...and let the 4-year-old in. The result will most likely be something you never could have thought of, and it will most definitely be something interesting. And that's really more than we usually get.

Talent Redefined

I heard this singer-songwriter on NPR one day, and her song was so lovely I knew I had found someone interesting to follow. I know this genre won't appeal to everyone, but she actually has a pretty varied repertoire. Some songs sound folksy, some sound more indie rock. I also like her lyrics--I have lately appreciated any writer who can come up with lyrics that speak to thoughts I've actually had in my own head, rather than impossibly sexy propositions and repetitive calls for club dance moves. So here she is: Laura Veirs. Not the face you will ever see getting 16 million hits on YouTube, but very cute and real. Enjoy.

Talent Redefined--Rodrigo y Gabriela

I'm sure many of you have heard of or seen this guitar duo. If you haven't, then you are about to be blown away by the speed of their hands. I love watching them, but sometimes I get a little pain in my wrist, as if mine were the one strumming so furiously. It's hard to watch them and not get at least a little fatigued.

I know they have gotten a lot of media play in the past couple of years, but I still think we need to see more of them. In general, I'd like to see more of people actually playing instruments to their full potential. And Rodrigo and Gabriela know how to make their guitars turn into different instruments. There's just no way to explain what happens to a guitar when it is loved so much. Enjoy.

Talent Redefined

I'm on a talent search.

Before my kids hit the tween years, I want to build up a music library full of interesting, clever, evocative, original, and beautiful pieces by truly talented songwriters and composers. I have this dream of the market shifting from trash to treasure. I want to see Gabriela Montero on the cover of a magazine at the checkout stand. Or a reality show where contestants compete to compose the most original symphony. If we, consumers of entertainment, can change the nature of our demand, then future generations have the hope of emotional and intellectual enrichment through music, rather than degeneration.

So, for the next...oh, I don't know--4 weeks or so?--I will be searching for and posting music that reflects actual talent. Not sales, not trends, not shock value--just talent. Opera, world music, jazz, rock, and even country.

Even though my sphere of influence mostly includes people who already value the above-mentioned qualities, I hope these posts are shared with young people who need exposure to something better than twerking and sick house beats. Not that house music is bad--some of it is quite innovative--but there is more to music.

First up, a bit of opera. I heard this song on the classical music station this morning in the car (you know, trying to stay clam in the morning rush). I have to admit, at first I thought the voice was a little annoying. But as my three-year-old and I kept listening, the vocal complexity became more intense. You have to admire a person who can do things with their voice that the rest of us couldn't do under torture. (Yeah, I'm not sure what that means either.)

The other thing I love about this piece is the echo of the trumpet and the duet between the voice and trumpet at various points. I'ts really beautifully arranged to sound like multiple voices.

So here it is: "Let the Bright Seraphim", from Handel's Samson. This version features Kathleen Battle, whom I am trying to learn more about, and Wynton Marsalis, a well-known jazz musician and composer. Enjoy!

Poor Miley

Okay, I have to say something about Disney Princesses.

Not these:



...these:



...and this one in particular:



I just get so sad looking at her.

Why do Disney child actors, girls in particular, "grow up" by becoming icons of sexual indulgence? They inevitably go to the extreme when it comes to proving their emergence from innocent childhood and appealing to an older audience...although I'm afraid this audience is getting younger and younger.

Growing up means so much more than opening yourself up to sexual activity. Why can't these actors and pop singers prove that they are "all grown up" by demonstrating mature decision-making and intellectual development? I get so disturbed watching the latest performances by Miley Cyrus and Selena Gomez. They are nothing but objects of the media. It's a sick kind of social slavery. They (the singers and the media) know what sells, and unfortunately this ends up perpetuating male-dominant/female-abused behaviors.

I can't place all the blame on the celebrities themselves. We, the consumers, demand the supply of racy, shocking, disturbing, and outright sick displays we see. And the agents working with the stars tell them what to do in order to sell albums and get publicity. Sadly, that's what "talent" means these days--doing whatever is necessary to keep your face in the Twittersphere. (For an even darker explanation, check out this article ("MTV VMAs 2013: It Was About Miley Cyrus Taking the Fall")--but read it critically. I don't actually buy into the specifics of what the author says in this or other works, but I do think the general trend is true.)

I know I'm not saying anything new, and I know there is a lot behind this issue that I haven't addressed. I just want to do a small part to further the counter-cultural message that we, the consumers, don't have to buy this crap. Set Miley free.

Impressions

If you are not a fan of impressionism as an art form, I suggest you go back and take another look. The effect of color, lines, boundaries, shape, light, etc. on our senses is fascinating. It's especially fascinating to discover how different people respond to the same painting or photograph. We often come away with these different impressions because of past experiences, desires, moods, or even distractions. When I look at the works of impressionist painters, I always wonder if the impression I'm getting is the one the artist was hoping to produce.

What impression do you get from the picture above?

It's an edited photograph. It's one of my favorite pictures that I have ever produced. I took it with my iPhone and edited the colors a bit, but the impressionist feel was produced by the mere fact of looking out a rainy window.

I want to tell you the effect I hope this picture has on people, but I won't. Because in the end, it doesn't matter. I enjoy this picture in a particular way, but who am I to impose that on someone else? Neither would I want someone to tell me how a particular song is supposed to make me feel.

You know, I have been thinking of myself as an impressionist lately. I often ask myself, "What impression are you hoping to make on people today?" I might choose a more severe and dramatic set of eyebrows for the day, or a certain pair of shoes. There are countless ways I construct my "look" to produce some kind of overall impression of who I am...or who I want to be. At work, I like to give the impression that I am composed and mature. I find that the clothes best suited for this are buttoned blouses, turtlenecks, shoes with low heels and pointed toes, bracelets, and my scarf in a bun. When I am walking in my neighborhood and want to give off the impression that I belong in the 'hood, I like anklets, a scarf with a long tail down the back, big earrings, maybe a cap over my scarf, and a fairly tight T-shirt.

The gist is, I try to arrange colors and textures in such a way as to give an onlooker a certain impression of reality. I don't have one "look"; I have as many styles as I have moods, fears, hopes, or purposes.

The thing is, I can't totally control what impression people have of me at any given moment. I may try to give off a certain vibe, but it often backfires. I might go into work thinking I look professional, when coworkers end up making comments about how "fashionable" I look, as if I valued that. I might try to look like the consummate sports fan at a Cubs game, but the die-hards around me probably sense my boredom and ignorance as the game goes on.

The lesson in all of this, if there has to be one, is that impressionism is about the artist as much as it is about the onlookers. It is about reflecting some sense of reality that is true for the artist and may find resonance with some viewers. If not, then a new sense of reality can be constructed between and among differing impressions. Not to philosophize fashion, but perhaps we should consider that the act of choosing how we will dress and arrange ourselves every morning is an act of impressionism. And impressionism is simply (or brilliantly) a way to boil details down into the most important sensory experiences.

If you want to make an impression on someone, give them something to experience. Let them see colors that reflect how you see yourself that day. Let your impressionist art be about communicating the core aspects of your "person" rather than the stereotype you are actually trying to stuff yourself into. Allow yourself to be released into a community of onlookers (who are also artists themselves, don't forget) whose impressions of you, no matter how varied or deviant from your intentions, will enrich your human reality and produce empathic responses all around.

So, what impression are you trying to make today? I challenge you to ask that question every day this week.

Life's (not) a Beach

I've spent a lot of time at the beach since moving to Chicago. I feel I absolutely must write something about "beach culture", because much of my time at the beach is spent gawking, giggling, and wondering at the absurdity of what I see around me.

For example: When I got to the beach today with my son, I pulled off my shirt and shorts, revealing my bathing suit underneath. Now, I have a tankini:



Not this one, obviously (or this body), but this is the idea. Tummy covered.

And it struck me that I was stripping down for all the world to see. I began walking around in underwear, basically. Why is it that I can strut around in bikini bottoms as long as they are made of Spandex and not cotton? I could even answer my front door this way, as long as it was obvious that I was wearing a bathing suit.

As I looked around, I had to laugh at the ridiculous amount of skin I saw. Butt cheeks hanging out, cleavage front and center, bellies bare and hairy in all their glory. Don't try to tell me it's all okay because we are going in the water. These people were also going in the water:



They look like they're having fun regardless of how much fabric they're wearing!

I'm not a Puritan. I just think it's interesting how location and purpose can totally flip social norms on their heads. Although, like "dry" society, beach culture is a culture of "haves" and "have nots"--those who have bikini-worthy bodies, and those who do not (or, for guys, beach volleyball-worthy bodies...or not).

(For a fun history lesson on the bikini, check out Time's novel photo gallery!)

I wonder how many people at the beach are actually paying attention to others' bodies. With all that skin showing, are men still turning their heads every time they see a hot bikini bod? Or are women snickering and laughing at another, larger woman's attempts to fit into a cute swimsuit? The answer is...yes. The "haves", I think, look at the "have nots" and pass a quick judgment (or "haves" look at other "haves" with either desire or jealousy), while the "have nots" are at the beach to have all kinds of fun.

I find this to be true in Chicago, but I didn't feel the same way on a recent trip to California. There, life on the beach is much more an integral part of daily life in general.

Just observations. I love going to the beach, and I have actually become much more free with my swimwear. The biggest change is that I am able to go completely bald without feeling self-conscious! Which is, of course, much more cool. Interestingly, I have become much more concerned with getting a tan...but that's a topic for another post.

How do you feel when you go to the beach? Do normal rules of modesty and appropriate bodily displays go out the window? Are beachgoers somehow exempt from scrutiny? Or have we simply designated a place where it's socially acceptable to be naked?

Lastly--I found this great speech about swimwear, which some of you may have already seen, and I think it's really important to think about in terms of how we define beauty...at the beach.

The Many Faces of Me

My dear uncle-in-law recently gave me the gift of sight.

At a recent family gathering, I saw people huddling over something and pointing, so naturally I was curious. As I got closer, I saw a picture of my face. And then another one. And another.

I took a minute to scan the page, and realized that every one of the hundred or so pictures I was looking at were of me. A dabbler in photography projects, my "uncle" had put together a collage of sorts out of head shots he took from my Facebook page. It was overwhelming at first. Also overwhelming was the fact that everyone had been looking at the page and picking out their favorites before I had even had a chance to see it.

But the more I looked, the more special it became to me. I have often cringed at the sight of many of these photos, but seeing them altogether was different. I was looking at a portrait of a young woman who has a good life. Each picture is a separate memory, but as a whole the pictures come together in this beautiful harmony of features. Rather than pick out my flaws, I'm forced to appreciate the many ways my face can look. I feel as if I can see myself the way others see me. This is a huge breakthrough. I don't know if this makes any sense, so I highly recommend doing a similar project to any of you who have a hard time looking at self portraits. I think you'll find beauty in "you in the context of you".

Here, I share it with you now.

Not this again!

Toothpaste, cosmetics...and a razor?! What?! Since when do I need a razor? Hello, alopecia universalis.

Apparently, my body is a little wishy washy when it comes to my hair, as is the case with all alopecia alumni. After being totally and completely without hair for years, minus a little peach fuzz on my face, I am suddenly finding sprouts in highly undesirable places. My body can't grow hair on my head or give me eyelashes. Oh no. Instead, my body is functioning properly on my chinny-chin-chin and (worse yet)under my arms.

Why, of all the irritating....

"But", some people excitedly tell me, "this means your hair is starting to grow back! You should be grateful!"

First of all, this does not mean my hair is growing back. Sufferers of alopecia universalis learn to hold hair lightly. It may come, but it will almost definitely go again.

Second, I don't know any woman who is excited about hair under her arms. Having no hair anywhere else does not induce me to jump for joy when I see hair in the only places it was worth losing it in!

When I first saw the little black hairs while I was getting ready for a day at the beach, I grabbed the nearest pair of tweezers and just went nuts. Finally though, I had to break down and buy a razor. I know I'm just succumbing to socially-assigned rules of feminine hygiene, but I just can't go around with hair under my arms when I don't have it on my head. That's crossing the line for me.

So, shaving has once again become part of my daily routine. (Well, weekly maybe.) I lost THE best perk that came with losing all my hair. The only good news is that, if I wait a couple years, it will probably all fall out again.

Scratches and food stains and nicks, oh my!

I'm so frustrated. My sunglasses have a scratch on them, right where I need to look straight ahead. I can't go around with that blurred spot right in front of me. And to top it all off, I just bought these a few days ago.

I'm really, really annoyed. My new shoes are scuffed at the toe. This happened the second day I wore them.


My husband's only suit has a stain on it that didn't come out with dry cleaning.

A purse I had for a few weeks came apart at the seams. Well, at one seam.

A new cardigan from Target got a hole in the armpit the first time I washed it.

My brand new bike looks ten years old after a rainstorm made it rust.

I'm putting duct tape on shoe heels, taping pages in library books, replacing batteries far more often than I should...why can't anything just stay "nice"?

I don't know if I should start spending more money on products of higher quality, or just protect my belongings more vigilantly from wear and tear. I just hate the feeling I get when I see that first sign of use on something new and costly. Even if it's no costly, I feel like I have thrown money away on it if it gets marked up somehow. I will replace the sunglasses, even if I just bought this pair, because I can't stand to wear them with a scratch on them. I will donate my kid's dress if it has a yellow paint stain on it.

Like people who shop in thrift stores want the stain any more than I do.

I wrote a post on this not long ago. Then, I was able to identify stains as evidence of a story. Or two. But when I get a scuffed heel or a torn strap, I just feel so...helpless. The cycle of buying, using, and replacing seems so repetitive. And since I don't have the time or talent to fix these things myself, they just go out the revolving door of goods that leave my house and then seem to find their way back in later, albeit in different forms.

So maybe I should stop sending them out. Maybe I should wear scuffed shoes and stained blouses to work. Why not? What's the big deal? Apparently, scratches and food stains and nicks make the wearer/bearer appear to be careless. Or lazy. Or poor. We want to make a good impression, so we hide these imperfections when they occur, or we dispose of them.

I don't know what the solution is. I have had shoes from both Payless and DSW break after only a few weeks of wear. The only brand of shoes that lasts for years and years, at least for me, is Naturalizer. This is not a plug--just my experience.

I guess I should go on Pinterest and look for those DIY cleaning and repair tips. You know, where every problem is solved with vinegar.

Until then, maybe all these scratches and stains and tears are telling me to slow down, pay more attention, and take care. Maybe they're telling me I'm too hard on myself. Or...maybe they're telling me to stop trying to avoid the unavoidable and enjoy what I have. Period.

YourSpace

We all take up space. We are privileged to live and move within a personal bubble, able to exercise control over at least our immediate surroundings. Many people take full advantage of this "right". They strut, they argue, they flirt.

Me? I don't like to assert my space. I prefer to pretend that I don't really take up any space. I step aside, I lower my eyes, I back off. I don't loathe myself--I just think other people would be put off if I were to privilege my space, and all that goes on within, over theirs. I am, essentially, a people-pleaser. I never want to be the cause of strife. But this is not truly about wanting the best for others. I think it's more about wanting others to think highly of me. Always.

But lately...

I have had to let others know, sometimes rather assertively, that I have just as much "right" to be in my space as they do in theirs. I suppose it's for my growth that I have increasingly been thrust into conflict, but it's actually really draining for me. For some divinely ordained purpose, I have a family made up of strong-willed lawyers and lawyers-in-training. My husband and kids are incredibly bright lights. They are fierce, smart, and loud! They are not ashamed of the space they occupy. They don't just breathe in its air; they suck it down like lemonade. They dance, they laugh, they shout. They argue. They don't look back.

But as their personal bubbles stretch and expand with so much life inside, they bump into other bubbles. And walls. And rules.

And I have to patch up the other bubbles, or at least stop them from quivering in the wake of...okay, my poetic analogy has fallen apart. You get the idea. I now find myself regularly facing conflict with the very people I have spent my life trying to appease: neighbors, counselors, teachers, babysitters.

My husband told me recently that maybe the purpose of these conflicts is to set me free from the need to have people like me. I don't need to be everyone's friend, he told me. And I have to wonder.

Is it so wrong to want to keep the boat still? When the boat rocks, people fall overboard. And I hate getting wet.

But, for better or worse, I do have to grow up and toughen up. I have to stand in my space and raise my voice without fearing that someone will question my right to be where I am.

Yeah...I'll let you know how that goes.

Emergence of a Mean Girl?

I am terrified of my daughter becoming a “mean girl”. Her dad and I have blatantly tried to impose our values upon her, ceaselessly providing opportunities and challenges to appreciate beauty from non-traditional sources. This used to work just fine.

Now, at age seven, our voices are not the only ones she takes in. The voices on the playground are, sadly, louder at the moment. I have been watching this transformation in her, from a believer in the Veggie Tales gospel that “God made you special” to an impressionable social seeker rapidly moving toward the lemming-like tween years. I see her trying to reconcile messages she gets from the trusted adults in her life with messages from friends whose approval means everything right now.
I thought I would have a few more years to prepare for this.

But, here we are. Her behavior is very unpredictable at the moment. One day I catch her speaking with openness and affirmation to girls in a park about her mom, who “has alopecia and that’s why she has no hair”, and the next day I find out that she has made hurtful comments to a dear friend about her appearance. One day she is genuinely befriending a girl with severe facial deformities at her school, and the next day she is playing the “that girl’s scary so let’s run up to her, scream, and then run away" game at the same girl’s expense.

It’s hard to know how her sorting out process is going. Which messages will stick with her? Which will define how she acts and views people around her? She has a kind heart, but she is also desperate to be a normal kid with friends who accept her. What is my role right now as a parent? Do I keep trying to impose a set of values on her as a foundation for the choices she will make later in life? Or do I take a deep breath and a few steps back, allowing her to glean her own wisdom as she witnesses the consequences of her own actions?

This little incident with our friend happened just the other night. Apparently, Esther said something hurtful, and then my friend addressed it by explaining that the comment hurt her feelings. Fine. This is to be expected at my daughter’s age, and I’m glad my friend was able to talk about how the comment made her feel and why it’s not appropriate to repeat.

What is absolutely not fine is that my daughter did, in fact, repeat the comment again, immediately after hearing how it had affected this friend. Maybe she was trying to see how far she could push; maybe she was more interested in watching and learning about our friend’s reaction than in the actual content of the messages; or, maybe she really couldn’t really identify with the fact that her comment had hurt this friend, whom she loves.

After hearing about this, I got my “I can’t believe you did this, because I know you are not this kind of girl” face on, and I let her know, without a doubt, that what she said was not okay. If the conversation had ended after the first comment, I would take a different approach—something like sitting down, asking questions, explaining why the comment was not something we would want to say again, etc. The fact that she said it again after our friend talked to her about it is what concerns me. So, after the lecture, the “mommy’s mad” eyes and the finger wagging, I decided I had better engage her in a different way. I want her to know the seriousness of verbal insults, but I also want to make sure she is developing a worldview in line with the ideals of compassion and justice.

So, I made her draw a picture of our friend. I told her to draw this friend exactly how she (my daughter) sees her. Then I asked her to write “(Name) is beautiful”. Drawing on notes I have taken in therapy sessions, I figured a picture would help to make concrete the abstract notion of using words to build people up rather than tear them down. I wanted her to create an image that she labeled as “beautiful”, not only to associate it with our friend, but also to own the feeling of being able to be a definer of beauty instead of just a judge of it.

This journey is just beginning, I know. The years to come will be filled with similar instances of reconciling two different sets of standards. I have hope in the solid foundation we as parents, along with family and community reinforcement, have given our daughter—and our three-year-old son. I must also look on my daughter with as much compassion as I am asking her to show others. And there’s the rub—because having compassion on my daughter’s emergent “mean girl” tendencies, real or imagined, requires me to have more compassion on the corners of my own self/heart wherein lie similar tendencies.

I haven’t decided whether or not to give the picture my daughter drew to my friend. That forced apology thing (“Now, say you’re sorry, and tell her she’s beautiful”) has never sat well with me. I do want my friend to know what I’m working on with my daughter, but I would like to wait until my daughter draws a picture of our beautiful friend without prompting before giving anything to her.

Raising daughters. Raising little women. Lord, help us.

Princess Overload

The obsession with Disney Princesses in our society is becoming more and more evident to me as I look for topics to write about on my blog. They are ubiquitous, both on the web and on store shelves. I get it. I mean, who wouldn’t want to wear extravagant, colorful gowns and have adventures with talking animals and roguish men all the time?!

What is really fascinating about the Princesses is how many people have tried to reimagine them. By that, I suppose I really mean “re-image” them. As in, give them a new image. I have seen the Princesses bald. Fat. Old. Bespectacled. Depicted as suburban moms. Dressed in historically accurate costumes. Placed in dark settings of human suffering.

Why are so many people spending so much time trying to insert the Princesses into so many different contexts?


(lookmatic.com)


(deviantart.com)


(weheartit.com)


(fanpop.com)


(Dina Goldstein)

No wonder it's so hard to get my daughter to think about something else--anything else--besides Princesses. They are no longer one-dimensional, fairy tale characters. Now, they have walked in our shoes. Or at least we like to think so. We like to imagine the Princesses in less-than-perfect situations--maybe because we so desperately want to believe that the perfection they exude in their original context is really unattainable. If we could see from all other angles, maybe we would realize that we don't have to keep hoping to escape into the world of a Disney Princess.

We want them to step into our lives for awhile, if we can't step into theirs.

Are these re-imaginings helpful? I don't think so. I think they only serve to keep us fixated on these "characters". I appreciate the idea behind all these efforts to humanize the Princesses. Just as I appreciate how the latest Princesses have starred in stories which are about more than just love and marriage. Still, these stories and these new images are all pointing to a particular definition of "beauty"--whether by modeling it or depicting its antithesis.

Lately, I have heard some words coming out of my seven-year-old daughter's mouth that disgust me. I'll just be honest. And I have threatened to take Princesses completely out of the picture for her if I feel they are distorting her perception of others around her. I have allowed Princesses to be part of her life to a certain extent, but I'm discovering how quickly they can become an obsession. An obsession promoted and capitalized on by our culture.

Instead of reimagining the Princesses, I would like to refocus the lens on women (men too, but women in particular) who need to feel a little more brave, beautiful, deserving, talented, adventurous, and all the wonderful qualities celebrated in the Princess archetype. Let's get over the Princesses and the efforts to give them more and more "original" or "realistic" looks, and let's focus on actual reality.

I want my daughter to spend her time appreciating what she sees in real people, not surfing the web to see how many different kinds of Princesses she can see.

I want my daughter to see different body shapes, sizes, colors and ages as equally beautiful parts of a spectrum, not as novelty affectations on a Princesses body that make her giggle and/or sneer.

Most of all, I want my daughter to believe that life is valuable because it is given by God, not because the Princesses have endorsed certain aspects of it.

To Tatt or Not To Tatt...or Too Tatt?

Well, another birthday has come and gone without me getting a tattoo. I've wanted one for years. I had decided to get one for my thirtieth birthday, but two years later my skin has yet to be touched by a needle. I still want one, but there are so many factors to consider:

~~What if I turn out to be allergic to the ink? I would so not be surprised.

~~I work with international students. What if having a tattoo offends them and compromises the trusting relationship I try to hard to build with them?

~~The designs I am considering will not fit anywhere where I would be able to see them. Do I rethink the design, or the location?

~~My husband is not crazy about this idea. Do I respect his preferences, or go ahead and do something to my body that he will have to confront every day?

~~How will I explain to my kids why I can get a tattoo but they can't draw on their hands with magic marker? More to the point, how will I explain the healing process without scaring them and revealing that I will actually go through pain in order to look a certain way?

~~Is this really something I want to spend money on? Does it really reflect my spending values?

~~Not knowing any tattoo artists personally, and not having a design on paper to go in with, how can I be sure I'll be happy with what I get?

~~The big one--why do I want a tattoo so badly? Am I trying for a personality upgrade? Do I want people to think I'm edgy? Do I want to mark a significant revelation and/or period in my life?


I have to be at peace before I get this done. And yet, there is no way to know how I will feel about it until I do it. Irrevocably.

Although I know this is ultimately my decision, I would love reader response on this one.

(Check out my new Pinterest board: Tattoo Ideas!)

The 10-Day Redefining Challenge--Day 10

Last day of the challenge. How was it for you?

Today's challenge is to repeat this mantra: Everyone sees me, and no one is looking at me.

Assume that everyone takes notice of you. You are not invisible, you are not unappreciated. You have made an impression, however brief, on everyone in your path. People notice the colors you chose, the way you carry yourself, and the confidence you exude.

Also assume that no one is looking at the details you fret over all day. People see you as a whole package, not as the sum of the many flawed parts you tend to focus on. No one is scrutinizing you the way you do yourself.

I hope these daily challenges have helped you to at least acknowledge some of the hangups we all face every day as we go out into a world dominated by narrow definitions of beauty. Repeat them as needed.

You are beautiful.

The 10-Day Redefining Challenge--Day 9

I hate the thought of being loud. Of disturbing anyone. To the point where, more often than not, I get ignored because no one thinks I'm talking to them. I talk a lot, but people can't seem to hear me. Literally, people can't hear my soft voice.

I'm so afraid of being a loudmouth. Loud sounds tend to grate on my nerves, so I assume they do for everyone else. I like to whisper in restaurants, on planes, and in line for theater tickets. When I am with a person who speaks louder than I do, I squirm every time they open their mouth.

I also like to stay out of everyone's way. I hug the fence when I walk along the sidewalk, constantly turning around to make sure I'm not blocking anyone's path. I am offended on behalf of people behind us when I am walking with someone who is oblivious to the fact that other people might be sharing the sidewalk.

In short, I value my place in society to the extent that I am able to hide myself in it.

But today I brought my kids to Target, and the three of us were criticized by another mom there with her baby. My kids were actually not being too bad; they were each pushing a little cart, and I had to remind them that other people were trying to get by in the aisles (for some odd reason, 4 pm was like Happy Hour at Target today--every aisle was crowded), but they never actually ran into anybody. And they weren't being loud until we were in the checkout line. My son started crying when I told him he had to stop pushing his cart. I only had to tell him because the woman in front of me, the same woman we kept bumping into throughout the store, was frowning at my kids and rolling her eyes. I finally apologized, and she muttered something under her breath to me.

We continued:

Me: "Well, I sure hope you don't have to deal with any of these issues when your little one (the baby in the cart throwing his bottle on the floor) grows up."

Her: "Don't even start with me. You are out of control."

Me: "...Wow."

I felt so sad that my kids and I were not, and are not, free to move and speak at will without constantly bothering someone. The general public has no tolerance for my kids, and it hurts to realize that the sentiment which breaks my heart also resides there often. I often can't stand to be around my kids in public.

But they, and I, live here and play here and have just as much claim here as anyone else. Why should I care how loud my voice is when I'm in a grocery store? In a library, I get it. Believe me, libraries are sacred places to me. But in Target?

And how hard is it to step around a child who is blocking your path, in blissful oblivion (as children know how to enjoy much better than adults)? Is it really so hard to share this world with other people?

I would like to redefine what it means to be part of the crowd. I'd like to discover the beauty of my own voice rising above all other noise. I'd like to bump into someone and find joy in the fact that we share a space which connects us.

My challenge for the day is to turn up the volume and take up more space! I will consciously raise my voice a little louder today. I will walk where I need to walk and hope that others will accommodate me, as I will for them.

Some of you may not struggle with this; your problem may be the opposite. But that's another challenge for another day. Today we celebrate being free in our personal space.

Here I come!

The 10-Day Redefining Challenge--Day 8

We all have features we would rather keep hidden. Freckles we cover up, noses we fix, bellies we suck in. Most of us have one or two body features in particular that we just hate.

I hate my little toes. My pinky toes. The nails don't grow normally. They grow in a pile, on top of themselves. Gross, I know. I have always been very sensitive about my toenails, even waiting until age 28 to get my first pedicure! I have finally gotten to the point where I can wear flip flops without embarrassment, because I have realized that no one looks at or cares about my little toes.

I need to fall in love with my toes. If I can grow to love one of my "worst" features, it should hopefully be that much easier to love the rest of what I see in the mirror.

The challenge for today is to write a love poem to your worst feature. It can be an ode to your crooked nose, a sonnet to the mole on your cheek, a haiku in honor of the knobby knees you try to cover no matter how hot it is outside...whatever.

Here's mine:

My toes,
my toes,
the nails grow
like a rose
in folds
over folds.

My toes,
my toes,
cramped and hidden
in shoes unbidden
you get stuffed into
fittin'.

Come out, little toes,
you're cute like my nose.
Point and wiggle,
and I will giggle
at my toeses,
my roses,
my "I-help-you-goeses".

You're vital,
never idle,
shoes wide'll
be your home.

My toes,
my toes,
no need to change
or nails to rearrange,
for the range
of strangeness
is beauty
to me.

The 10-Day Redefining Challenge--Day 7

I think I take myself too seriously. Seriously.

I try to be very put together and composed in social settings. I am self-conscious about my smile and laugh, so I minimize all expression when I'm with anyone other than my mom and sister. I also check and double check to make sure my appearance is impeccable; because heaven forbid I let anyone see me with a bit of food in my teeth or a drip at the end of my nose (the wonderful by-product of a sinus procedure I had done a few years ago).

But I miss the freedom of being myself, without all the rehearsal and performance. I really do feel like I am putting on an act much of the time. I try to keep myself looking classy, when I'm really kind of a mess. I stumble, I cough at odd times, I fall off piano benches at church, I pass gas every now and then, my voice cracks when I sing--in other words, I'm like all of you! And I'd like to do more than just know that in my head. I'd like to laugh at myself in a way that brings joy rather than self-deprecation. I'd like to be silly without being self-conscious.

Now, I understand there are times when being silly will get you nowhere--or may even get you fired. But most of the time, I think we could all do with a little less performance and a little more natural expression.

My challenge today is to get over ourselves. Being goofy, messy, clumsy, annoying, ditsy, or one of countless other less-than-perfect qualities is actually beautiful. These qualities speak to our common humanity and vitality. The occasional gaffe does not define us, nor does it change how people see us--at least not in the long term.

The best way I can think of to pull off this challenge is to make silly faces at myself in the mirror before I walk out the door. So I challenge you to do the same! Smile, laugh, frown, stretch, open, scrunch, skew--and see the beauty inherent in expression of all kinds. Set yourself free from the need to be perfectly composed. The less seriously you take yourself, the more you will begin to redefine your beauty in terms of your inner beauty rather than your outer "perfection".

The 10-Day Redefining Challenge--Day 6

Straighten up!

Today's challenge is to walk, sit, stand and move as straight as possible.


(Image from http://coreconnexxions.wordpress.com/2012/01/30/straighten-up/)

For me, good posture is a confidence issue. I never wanted to stand straight it felt like I was trying to stick my chest out. I saw those girls at school, walking around with sway backs because they wanted everyone to notice their female endowments. I didn't want to be like that. Well, actually I did...I just didn't have the proper equipment. So I slouched. I didn't want to draw attention to the fact that my figure was anything but girlish.

I also slouch when I'm with people who are shorter than me. I do this, I think, to make sure they don't feel bad about not having the height I do. It's also awkward for me to talk down to people.

The problem with slouching is two-fold. First, it creates actual physical problems. Any chiropractor will tell you that. Second, and this is where the challenge comes in, it affects how you see yourself. When I see a picture of myself slouching, I feel old and bent. I look frumpy, tired, and sloppy. When I walk with a slouch, I actually have less energy to move around with.

When I catch myself slouching and straighten up my back, I suddenly feel empowered and confident. At least, I'm aware that I look that way to other people. I still have to deal with the issue of looking like those girls in my high school, but all in all I think I've realized that my posture really affects the image I have of myself. It feels good to walk tall.

Try to notice your posture a little more today than usual. Walk with your head high, your shoulders back, and chest unabashedly out. See how the world looks from a few inches higher.

The 10-Day Redefining Challenge--Day 5

Someone asked me yesterday why I had changed my Facebook profile picture. I had been using a picture of a drawing my daughter made of me, but I was a little bored and decided to change it to the picture I posted on this blog yesterday. As I talked with this person a little more, we discussed motives for posting certain profile pictures over other ones. We tend to choose really flattering photos to post as the representational images of ourselves. There's nothing wrong with that--we all do it, we all want to put our best face forward, we all want to make a good impression.

As I looked at my photo, I began to see all the ways in which it's actually not very flattering. The bags under my eyes, those protruding lines of my neck, the general paleness...I'm laughing about it now, but catch me on the wrong day and that picture could actually make me cry. It's not my most flattering picture. If I wanted to impress people, I might post this picture:



I have a beautiful dress on, great hair, and shadows on my face to hide the bags under my eyes! Well, sort of...

But that's not always how I look, obviously. I'm afraid to post a profile picture that really shows people how I look "at home", which is not always so flattering. Here's one my daughter snapped of me while I was playing with my son:



Yeah, not so great. I would never post that as my profile picture.

But, it is a picture of me; therefore, it is beautiful. Every picture of every person must be beautiful. We are beautiful in design, beautiful in how we move, beautiful when we are living. I just can't always see that.

My challenge for us today is to find unflattering pictures of ourselves and look at them until we find them beautiful. I don't care if it takes ten seconds or ten minutes--get to know yourself from all sides and angles, see the beauty of any shape and pose, and redefine what a "flattering" photo looks like. You don't have to go so far as to post one of these as your profile picture, but it might be freeing to do so eventually. Find a picture of yourself that makes you chuckle when you remember what was going on when it was snapped, and post it as a representation of a life-giving memory rather than as the face you want people to see.

But that might take some leading up to. For now, just have courage to look at those pictures which you usually pass over or hide behind others in the album. Stay with them until they are beautiful to you. When you get to this point, chances are good that you will finally be seeing them the way others do: without judgment.