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It's terrible admitting it. Even more awful feeling it. And yes, since I promised that my blog would be about humanness too, here it is.
Over yesterday and today, I allowed myself to think about her. A good friend. Who I see very rarely, because we moved and all that. But there is a freedom about this person that is difficult to ignore. She is nothing if not, happily, confidently, care-free. No, she doesn't live a charmed life. I've been privy to some of the sudden endings and shaky beginnings in her particular journey. But never once, did she lose her sense of...well...style. I think that's what it is. It's a sense of style. A choice. A choice to live her best life no matter what the world throws at her.
All of these stellar qualities are enviably packaged. She is gorgeous and refuses to let it matter. And she refuses to get all wadded up about nothing. And she is never afraid to stand out. And she has fun. I mean, she goes out there, determined to have fun. And she speaks her mind.
No, if there are men reading this, I cannot give you her number. She's been off limits for a long time. And she's my friend. But gosh, I'm so terribly jealous!
Him wonders aloud, "Is it her looks? She is...something. Really, quite graceful." Right. Him's attempts to soothe my angst was like pouring acid on nettle stings.
I respond with a grouchy, "I know you think so. I know everyone thinks so. In fact, I know that you'd prefer her to me. Any time."
Him then looks at me, frowning, and says, "No. Stop it. I don't."
And I insist, "Lies. All lies. You like her because she's more fun, more forward and so gorgeous."
Him, does his very Him-like thing and says, "Well, right now, I'd prefer her company. And what's wrong with her being gorgeous? Why don't you go do things like she does, if you're so jealous?"
I studiously ignore the part about Him preferring her company for the moment. It would take us nowhere. Which is where this particular conversation is headed anyway. Instead, I'm trying to convince him of things that he insists are not true. "So you don't really like the things I do. Or the way I do things. You should've said so. I always knew that you had a soft corner for her."
Him rolls his eyes and doesn't open them. He's sitting with his eyes closed, trying to blot me out in my illogical state. Him can't handle drama very well. "Look. You said you wished you were more like her. Or she could do the things that you do. Or that you weren't so chicken about things. I was just encouraging you. Do what you like. It doesn't bother me at all."
"So you don't care? About how I'm feeling. About me?" I shoot back, unreasonably.
"I'm making myself not care that you're being silly. Really. I will not care about my wife's weekend silliness. You're fine the way you are. And her husband obviously loves her the way she is. Nothing else should matter." Him tried putting things into perspective for a person who's world was a spinning kaleidoscope of shades of green.
"So you don't really love the way I am?" I force him to acknowledge it, ignoring everything else.
"This isn't about me. It's about you. You're jealous and don't know what to do with yourself."
I acknowledge that it's true. But still stay quiet. Him gives up and gets us breakfast. Not a bad Saturday morning. Mini-Him is still asleep. It's just the spectacle of perfection that she presents. So charming, lissome, carefree and yet, enigmatic. Of course, these adjectives are mine. I have not a clue how she perceives herself. From what I know of her, she doesn't care what anyone thinks of her.
I still remember the day that Him stared too, slack jawed, when she arrived, dressed in a daring shade, absolutely at ease with herself. I remember rushing over, glad to see her and hugged her. Stepping away, the silence of the rest of the party struck me. Everyone was staring. Perhaps she noticed. Perhaps not. But she was busy introducing herself, contributing to the room's illumination with her hundred watt smile. Her husband stood proud. The man didn't really have to say anything. Everything about them was evident. Their little girl hurried to play with the other kids, and she sat down and joined the kids. It took a while for the room to return to normal.
It is more about that remarkable self-possession, I think. The fact that I have always perceived her as unflappable. Not given to silliness. And completely accepting of herself.
And beyond the obvious beauty, daring fashion choices, and being the center of a party, it is a lot about her utter belief in herself.
There. I said it. I wish I had it. I wish I could be as unflappable and confident. As certain and as carefree, inspite of sorrows. I wish, that I could care less about public opinion. And not be overwhelmed or dazed.
Yes. I wish I could wear lemon yellow with great aplomb too.
Now, to sort this out. I really can't be walking about with all of this holding me back. Now that I've put it down, it's not the worst thing, is it?
No. But I wish I could brave shorts without a care in the world.
This must be, really, about getting to a point, where I am comfortable in my own skin.
And it would be great to look my best at all times of day, infuse fun into a place just by being there, and not really give a damn if I'm my 60% best today.
It really would be great.
Now, I'm going to do something about this uneasy place that I haven't had the courage to look into in so long.
Have a good weekend!
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