I don’t think I’ll even be done worrying about my body. I am so back-and-forth about my lifestyle choices, and it’s exhausting. In the same 24 hour period I can be fine and then completely unhinged about my stomach, my love handles, and how thick my legs look when I’m this pale. It’s a struggle and yet, I want to be done with it. Whether that’s throwing in the towel and feeding my Polish genes sausage and kraut, or continuing to strive toward my ideal.
I haven’t figured out which it will be yet.
Sometimes I feel like I missed my chance…that tiny window of opportunity to be carefree and reckless, the time that personifies what it is to be young and alive and not give a damn. I’m not even sure that it existed in my life, and if there were hints to it I was blind to them.
I can remember so vividly how I always felt too old.
I played by the rules and became extremely embarrassed if I somehow broke one of those rules (unintentionally of course). I was crazy in the sense that I liked strange things, not that I was wild. Although I used to be, when I was much younger and not weighed down with the responsibility of being an honor roll student and a good daughter. When I wasn’t so concerned with super tight ponytails and my hair was long and tousled and free. And I think that’s always what’s conflicted me…I’ve always wanted to be.
I’m going through my witch phase again, which sounds like I’m crazy…but it’s true. There is something I feel is missing, this secret little part of me that needs and yearns to shine through. It makes me crave rings and long hair and flowy skirts with lace up boots. It comes and goes like the tide, a little more powerful than the last time, creeping up my consciousness like sea-foam on the shore. And every time I let it wash over me, I end up holding my breath until it passes. But even if I think it won’t, it will find its way back to me.
Of that I’m sure.