An old high school buddy appeared on Facebook recently and I sent him a request to renew our friendship in the strictly voyeuristic kind way that is Facebook. I haven’t seen him since our freshmen year at university. He came to visit his girlfriend and wreaked a small amount of havoc with his maniac partying for a weekend and a bit, if I am recalling the time frame correctly. After that, I heard about his exploits via a mutual friend and then he vanished. No one seemed to really know where he was or what he was up to. It happens.
I wasn’t at all sure it was him to tell the truth even when he accepted my request and I checked out his page. He looked so old despite having lied about his birth year and the fact that he obviously was once seriously into weight-lifting.
But it was him.
I noticed an update he posted a couple of days later with a photo of himself at the gym announcing that he was getting back to a serious work-out regime. Aren’t we all that way when we have a new man in our lives? Well, I was. Back in the day. I think they were during the mid-1990’s. I haven’t had a serious work out schedule since before husband(s) and child. The number one reason women fall to physical pieces are husbands followed closely by children. Even if you manage to keep a routine, every little thing that comes up (and much does when one is serious about one’s marriage and the upbringing of kids) derails it and usually with more regularity than the schedule itself.
The thing I noticed the most about my old friend’s update was the idea that how we look is the most important aspect of ourselves. How could anyone possibly care about us if we didn’t work out? Weren’t thin? Haven’t retained our youthful glow? Or at the very least weren’t trying beyond reason to do all of the above.
I found a great link to a blog piece talking about our tendency (well mine anyway) to talk about our physical flaws but not about those aspects of ourselves that rock. For example, I am quick to bemoan the little belly I have now that I am well into the change over from fertile to not at all, but I do not talk about my great legs or my awesome bum. And how do I know? Well, both my husbands – late and current – raved about them. I also have gorgeous eyes and I know that because my daughter has them, so I have had the opportunity to look at them from a different vantage point for quite a few years now.
What else? I have the tiniest most dainty wrists and I look great in low cut tops because of the way my collarbone and upper chest are defined.
Jenny, the Bloggess, posted a picture of herself for National Cleavage Day last week with an invitation to join her and link back. I have below the neck shots but hesitated – mostly because I don’t own a set and never have (unless you count when I was pregnant). It reminded me of the t-shirt Friday shots I tried for a while until I decided that I just was not that kind of an exhibitionist. I tmi with words, and I don’t need a thousand of them to paint a picture. It would be nice to have that kind of confidence, but I will work on it.