(no subject)
42 years old today.
Old, ancient, past-prime.
Worthless, sad sack, me.
I've never been hung up on age. I don't know why. It almost feels unnatural not to be a complete freak about it.
I mean, yes, I shamelessly adore being told I look younger than I am. (AKA Today an intern told me she thought I was 29. Me. I almost leapt across the desk and made out with her).
But, reality, this happens less and less and less.
Now I think I look exactly how a 42 year old looks.
Sorta like so:
Me, with a good friend, holding my bday gift (a gift that is in my stomach now).
And this is what I wish someone had told me about 42.
As you get older, Mother nature starts weeding out the creeps for you.
When I was 17 years old, I received much more attention.
Or, said another way, I don't turn as many heads anymore.
Thank.
God.
Because the kind of attention you get as a 17 year old girl, is cheap, horny attention.
Put on a bikini and sashay down the street and you'll get a taste of it.
I often felt vaguely threatened by it. Leering is not a comfortable thing.
And, yet, the attention can feel powerful.
Now, when someone approaches me, it's someone who can see past a wrinkle or two.
And anyone who finds depth and character a sexy hot turn-on is the one you want to be with.
(Not the one who can't see past a boob or two. See how that works?)
There's a level of respect that wasn't there before.
It's how someone looks you in the eye when you talk.
At you, not through you.
I can see it right now as I think about it.
It's a connection that springs from respect.
This kind of attention is empowering.
And I'll take it.
So, yea, I wish someone had told me it's not a numbers game.
Quality, not quantity.
You don't have to be perfect to be beautiful or desirable.
As soon you as jump off the Perfectionist-Look at ME ME ME treadmill, you will learn to become more comfortable in your own skin.
Because nothing changes whether you have fake nail tips glued on or not. You? Are still you.
Self-acceptance and confidence is what attracts quality people.
Which, in turn, empowers you.
That's what I wish someone had told me.
Quality, not quantity.
Respect, not leering.
Beauty, not perfection.
42, Day One, is a lot of fun.
(Also, I held a baby mountain lion today.Has nothing to do with anything but I had to work that in somehow.)
Thanks for reading.
Old, ancient, past-prime.
Worthless, sad sack, me.
I've never been hung up on age. I don't know why. It almost feels unnatural not to be a complete freak about it.
I mean, yes, I shamelessly adore being told I look younger than I am. (AKA Today an intern told me she thought I was 29. Me. I almost leapt across the desk and made out with her).
But, reality, this happens less and less and less.
Now I think I look exactly how a 42 year old looks.
Sorta like so:
Me, with a good friend, holding my bday gift (a gift that is in my stomach now).
And this is what I wish someone had told me about 42.
As you get older, Mother nature starts weeding out the creeps for you.
When I was 17 years old, I received much more attention.
Or, said another way, I don't turn as many heads anymore.
Thank.
God.
Because the kind of attention you get as a 17 year old girl, is cheap, horny attention.
Put on a bikini and sashay down the street and you'll get a taste of it.
I often felt vaguely threatened by it. Leering is not a comfortable thing.
And, yet, the attention can feel powerful.
Now, when someone approaches me, it's someone who can see past a wrinkle or two.
And anyone who finds depth and character a sexy hot turn-on is the one you want to be with.
(Not the one who can't see past a boob or two. See how that works?)
There's a level of respect that wasn't there before.
It's how someone looks you in the eye when you talk.
At you, not through you.
I can see it right now as I think about it.
It's a connection that springs from respect.
This kind of attention is empowering.
And I'll take it.
So, yea, I wish someone had told me it's not a numbers game.
Quality, not quantity.
You don't have to be perfect to be beautiful or desirable.
As soon you as jump off the Perfectionist-Look at ME ME ME treadmill, you will learn to become more comfortable in your own skin.
Because nothing changes whether you have fake nail tips glued on or not. You? Are still you.
Self-acceptance and confidence is what attracts quality people.
Which, in turn, empowers you.
That's what I wish someone had told me.
Quality, not quantity.
Respect, not leering.
Beauty, not perfection.
42, Day One, is a lot of fun.
(Also, I held a baby mountain lion today.Has nothing to do with anything but I had to work that in somehow.)
Thanks for reading.