Eye of the Beholder: Characteristics of Personal Self-Worth

Rob Thomas “Somthing to Be” Live

“Personal Self-Worth”.  Yes, I know it’s redundant but I think there’s usually a significant difference between how one defines oneself to others and how one defines oneself to themself.  (So many “selfs”)  Your public persona is often very different from the one you face in the mirror alone in your bathroom in the morning or evening (depending on when you’re most self-reflective).

—Warning: This post sounds quite melodramatic.  I know.  And while I mean evertything I’ve written, they’re not the only things I believe about myself (or anyone else for that matter).  I just have too much time on my hands to explore the extremes right now.  I’m sure a “I’m F-ing Awesome” post will follow shortly.  Just you wait.  But with people constantly asking “How are you doing”, sometimes I just want to actually say what’s going on in my head.  For now, I’ll just write parts of it.—

When you’re given those personality tests with endless lists of qualities to check off or rank for yourself, what do you always say?  I’m always things like strong, opinionated, detail-oriented, cautious, rational.  I’m structural and analytical.  Anal and organized, cold and serious.  My personality tests read like a resume.  I sound like the ideal employee to sit in a corner with stacks of papers, a computer, her iPod and the occasional phone call.  When in “real life”, I’m nothing if not emotional and desiring to be around other people.  Sure, I still come off cold and calculated but that’s because I’ve found people don’t react to fiercely emotional very well.  At least with the alternative, I only give up sensitive information when I feel like volunteering it.  I’m very rarely asked out right.  I imagine that’s because people don’t think I really think (or feel) about those types of things, whatever they may be.

So if I was going to make a list of my “real” characteristics, I’m not sure I’d be able to be that honest with myself.  My entire life (as short and uneventful as it’s been) has been built around being in control.  I had goals and found ways to easily achieve them.  I’ve always been an above average student, a capable employee and a loyal friend.  Give me something to do and I’ll simply do it.  Need something from me and I’ll simply give it.  Now I’m not saying I am always the best but I am nothing if not dependable.  Friends get to see the bitchier side but I think they all know if it ever came down to it, my personal opinions and sharp words really wouldn’t mean a thing.  But I digress…

My recent job loss was a jolt to my ego, personal self-worth, life-gauge.  I did well in high school to get a scholarship for college.  I was a high-performing and well-rounded student in college to get a good job upon graduation.  I got that good job and moved to a new city to pursue my “future.”  I maintained two jobs for nearly three years to be “responsible” and pay off more of my debt.  I avoided all things that could get me in trouble, derail me from my goals, negatively affect my future.  I didn’t get into relationships because I told myself I needed to “focus”.  I didn’t really “enjoy” the time in my life to be acceptably “stupid” or “naive.”  And what do I have to show for it now? An apartment full of novelty items that don’t really mean much or provide any comfort, suffocating bills, a desk covered with papers about unemployment, COBRA, contacting creditors, canceled plane tickets, revised resumes and job applications.  My life could be 100 times worse but I’m not in the mood to worry about others right now.  One of my developing characteristics is relentless selfishness and self-pity.  It’s really not attractive.

I was never the pretty one or the athletic one.  Never the nice one or the bubbly one.  The super smart one or the smooth talker.  I was always just the one with the plan and usually the means to accomplish it.  Smart enough to get by and pleasant enough to not be completely anti-social.  My skills and planning, research and execution made me seem lucky or at least hard-working.  Now what?  Now what am I?  Will getting another job right my world or will this feeling of inadequacy stick with me for a while?  I don’t really know but since I don’t want to talk about it, it’ll probably manifest itself in another character flaw, my bitchy desire to push people away when that’s the last thing I need to be doing.  But recognizing the problem is the first step, right?

And what makes me inadequate?  In this time of stress and drama, I’m not comparing myself to someone or everyone else with some measurable goal in mind.  I’m comparing myself to what I think I should be doing and that’s the truly unattainable goal.  How can I have a goal if I don’t have a plan?  And at this point, my only plan is to get another job that will allow me to use the skills I’ve spent a few years developing and to pay off the debt I’ve spent the same few years collecting.

Of course, no job should define a person and mine never defined me.  I am not and never will be software PR.  But when having a job that justifies most of your life choices is no longer an option, then what?  I have to really like the “personal” parts of myself?  That means I have to deal with the not so great parts also.  No fun.  This job search is another test of my ability to like myself.  I’m having to learn to sell myself all over again.  It’s been three wonderful years of just doing something, not having to really think about it and why I’m the perfect one to be doing it (or not).

If only my self-worth could be in something tangible and easily adjusted like my looks.  Haha.  Just kidding.  That would probably suck more…

My personal self-worth lies in the ability to stress about all of these things and still just do my thing, whatever it may be.  In this case it’s market my marketing abilities.  A true test, I guess.

Jo’van

Eye of the Beholder: Brown Sugar, Can I Love You?

In my current unemployed daze, I started cleaning my room and came across a photo of myself and 7 of my 8 roommates from my semester in Florence (Firenze), Italy 4 years ago.  Yes, I had 8 roommates in one not-large apartment with 5 bedrooms.  Luckily (or not surprisingly), I was the only person that had their own room.  I got there first, it was the only one ready, I offered to switch but no one took me up on it…

Of course, I took this photo as a perfect reason to stop whatever I was doing and reminisce.  I’m unemployed.  I should just live the middle-class, uninspired, quarterlife-crisis happening American’s dream and backpack around Europe (again).  But being pragmatic and a month and a half away from absolutely broke, I didn’t linger on this fantasy very long.  However, I did try to remember what it was like to live in Florence, the sounds, the smells, the foods, the people, the school, the market, the mosquito nets…

Aside from the expected culture shock and complete lack of disposable income, I had a great time.  In the most cliche way, that semester made me feel like I could be a grown up and I started to toy with the idea of being able to really do this, really living abroad.  Pack up and become more concerned with a passport than a state driver’s licence.  I liked just being classified as an American, not as black, or middle class, or a Southerner, or the product of a broken marriage, or a preacher’s kid, or whatever social constructions I use to identify myself at any given time.  Of course those things would still matter, but I now how had this larger title AMERICAN to identify and/or argue with.

However, I had another title that I wasn’t prepared for.  So growing up in the US, Tennessee and going to school in Iowa, I’ve never been the ideal of beauty.  Real beauty is petite, buxom and blonde.  Real beauty has blue or green eyes, gets curly perms and pays to tan.  Real beauty looked like Britney, not Beyonce.  Not to go too extreme, the US is a melting pot and values melting pot beauty but if we were to identify one true ideal for the nation as a whole it would not have an excess of melanin.  It’s just the truth.

I happened to room with 4 wonderful, very different looking and acting white women from Iowa State.  I respect these women and hate to reduce them to physical descriptions but it’s necessary to make my point.  We had a short, cutsy sorority girl, an athletic, artsy blond, a shorter, fuller diva and a commanding, self-assured amazon.  And then there was me, I guess I’d describe myself as a tall, sassy black girl.  We were nearly as different as possible.

In Iowa (or just about anywhere else in US), I would not have been the 1st, 2nd or even 3rd person someone would look at in our group.  However, in Florence, to my surprise (and that of some of my roommates…), I was often the object of attention.  How odd it was to be walking to class through the market and hear “Brown Sugar, Can I love you?” in a thick Italian accent.  Well of course you can’t but thanks. 🙂 Cat calls were strange to me.  At home, it only seemed to be dirty old men I could easily dismiss.  Here, not so much.  It seems that brown was exotic in Florence.  Blondes were typical.  Every American, British and Australian exchange student looked like my roommates.  Italy gave me a little ego boost.  🙂  And to make things even better, I didn’t look my best.  Here I was getting more attention than ever before and I didn’t have access to a hairdresser or my entire wardrobe.  Who knew?

And I have to give it the Italian men.  They were not shy but they were also not all that annoying.  Yes, I definitely heard some things that would make a less brown person blush and some of the guys would follow you around.  But unlike at home, once they got the message that it wasn’t going to go anywhere, rather than get pissed or hurt, they simply turned in one direction or another in search of the next female.  You don’t want me? Ok.  She might.  And I’m off…

I also have to note that there were quite a few male African immigrants out during the day.  At any tourist spot, you’d find men selling random knock offs on sheets for easy pick up.  I later found out that there were quite a few African immigrant women as well.  It just so happens that they are the popular choice for prostitution.  I can’t say for sure if this is true but my sources led me to believe that Italian men had no problem paying for a little brown sugar and in fact, preferred it.  Supporting that remark, I was visiting a friend, my wife actually, in Rome and as I was walking back to the hostel, four cars pulled over to ask how much.  It’s important to understand that I was in a hoody, jeans and tennis shoes.  Rather than be offended, all I could do was think how our “girls” are being played in the states.  Of course, I didn’t but I could’ve gotten some business in comfortable clothes while they’re suffering in spandex, stilettos and fishnets…

Anyway, the whole point of this story was the fact that I had to get out of the country to recognize my melting pot attraction, whether I was the one leading myself to believe it didn’t exist or not.  I’m not saying that I’m horrendous and doomed to live with 14 cats because my looks are so offensive.  It’s just that growing up I was brown, lanky, only developed the one curve I have in college and always had cute(r) friends.  A semester in Florence gave me a little more confidence and the ability to possibly see myself as being a little more, if not one of the “cute friends”, at least not “the ugly one.”

Italy – an expensive ego boost,

Jo’van

Eye of the Beholder: LGN Diet

About a year ago, I was talking to a male friend.  We were just chit chatting, waiting for other people to finish or show up, I don’t remember exactly.  Anyway, we started talking about working out.  He has been known to be somewhat of a gym rat if the mood arises.  As I’ve said before, I know that I need to work out to look the way I want but I don’t love it.  And because of that lack of love, my gym kicks go in waves.  At that time, I was on a new one, only a few weeks old.  After talking for a little while about what we do and don’t do, blah blah blah, he threw me a curve ball.  As calmy as ever, he looked me up and down and said, “You’re working out.  You must be having sex.”

Now, sex is natural and beautiful and all that loveliness but it’s still something I consider to be private, for me and everyone else.  I had no idea how to react.  At that time, I wasn’t even talking to, hoping to flirt, or anything else with anyone, let alone concerned about anyone seeing any part of my body not already visible in work clothes.  The comment just blew my mind.  Is this why men or everyone thinks everyone else works out?  Is there anything wrong if that is the reason?  What are your real reasons for working out?

I’ve already admitted that my main reason is vanity, not naked vanity, just the normal kind.  I want to be a size 8 (occasionally a 6 or 10 depending on the cut).  I think this size looks good on me.  I’m still relatively young and have the available time and resources to exercise.  I really have no excuses not to.  I’ve never been the type to really complain about my current size/body but sometimes those glances in front of the full length mirror cause an unpleasant double-take.  What’s a girl to do? Complain or sweat?  I complain enough about other things.  I’ve decided to spare the people around me from another unnecessary topic.

Possible Reasons for Quality Time on the Elliptical Machine:

1.) Health: Okay.  That’s an easy one.  Who doesn’t want to be healthier?  The problem is that most of us aren’t willing to sacrifice to be healthy.  We’re just waiting for the big pharmacy companies to come up with a pill, or better yet a one time shot.

2.) Vanity: Yes, I’ll claim that one.  We all want to look better than we currently do, even the people who already look amazing.  But not everyone’s got Giselle’s genetics or LL Cool J’s personal trainer.  For most of us, our appearance is extra, not a part of our job description.  Famous people are famous for a reason.  We’ve got to stop comparing.  I’ll never look like Beyonce.  I’m just trying to look as good as I can, regardless of those around me.

3.) Muscles: Yes, this is tied to vanity but there are some people who work out for a particular goal, competing and such.  No real comment on this one.  But all of those sinewy muscles and veins popping out kind of grosses me out.

4.) LGN Diet “Looking Good Naked”: I’ve got to admit the name is a new one for me but needs no further explanation.  Although, it seems that people are fueled by this motivation until the couple gets really comfortable and starts to gain together…

5.) Special Occasions and Summer: Closely tied to the LGN Diet, often times people work out to fit and/or look better in certain outfits for certain occasions; weddings, reunions, bathing suits, vacations, etc.  This motivation is generally temporary.

6.) Fun: Heaven knows why but some people actually enjoy exercising.  I wasn’t blessed with that gene.  But if you’ve got it, rock it, I guess.  I was blessed/cursed with the “eat good and sleep well” gene. (Note: Eating good does not necessarily mean healthily, just tastily…)

I didn’t really have a purpose for this post.  I just really wanted to write about the new term I learned, the “Looking Good Naked” Diet.

Wondering why everyone else at the gym is working out,

Jo’van

Eye of the Beholder: Curse of the Pretty Friends

Note: This post is not an open invitation or a vain attempt to get people I know to argue with me about how cute or not cute I may be.  It’s simply a place to vent.  Beautiful people suck sometimes.  And the sad part, it usually has nothing to do with them.  It’s all about the attention they receive.  Positive attention is nice and if you’re not receiving it, you either wonder if it’s because of you or “them”.  It’s always easier to blame them.  🙂

What do you do when you know your friend is cuter than you?  And I don’t mean “oh, they have beautiful hair but you have clear skin.”  I mean when you know you’re the ugly friend (in comparison).  What’s supposed to go through your mind when you go out and you’ve accepted you’ll only get the attention after your friend passes on that guy’s advances?  When every group picture makes you want to seek out an uglier friend to go out with?

Ok, so maybe it’s not that extreme but I’ve always had beautiful friends.  Now I’ve had and currently have some ladies friends that may be on the other side of the spectrum but for the most part, the ladies I spend most of my time with are quite attractive.  As I’ve said before, I consider myself to be pleasantly average with the occasional hot moment.  How do you compete with naturally gorgeous?  I need my hair in its place, my makeup on point and the right outfit to pull it off.  Should I even be worried about competing?

Considering male attraction, should it even be an issue?  The guys that look at my friends are obviously not interested in me.  Should I be jealous?  Or should I just accept that I don’t fit their physical type?  Would it even matter if it happened to be one of my hot nights?  Shouldn’t I be worried about guys I can talk to, laugh with?

Well of course.  But who thinks that when they’re out at night and not being approached the same way a friend is?  Or when it’s obvious you’ve been set up with the short, fat decoy so the two attractive people can flirt?  Yes, it’s frustrating but it happens.  What can you do?  I actually like the people my beautiful friends are.  I’ll just have to accept their physical assets and bask in their glory whenever possible.  Maybe some of it will rub off.  But if it doesn’t, I’ve accepted my role as the smart ass friend.  I don’t imagine that quality fading with time or being affected by gravity.

Flipping through girls’ night photos,

Jo’van

Eye of the Beholder: Embracing the -ER

I’ve always prided myself on being -er.  I’m not the thin, pint-size ideal woman.  I’m tall-er and don’t need a ladder to reach things on the top cabinet.  I’ve never been petite and feminine.  I’m bigg-er and can carry the heavy groceries.  I hope to never feel the need to play dumb for a man (or authority figure for that matter).  I’m okay – and rather enjoy – being smart-er.  Bigg-er, tall-er, smart-er, whatever.  I’ve embraced the -ers in my life.  Good or bad, they’re there and show no signs of changing anytime soon.  In that teenage period of “discovering myself”, all I really saw were the -ers.  They seemed to be all there was to me.  I had to define them or let them define me.

As I grow old-er, wis-er, the -ers become less of comparisons to others and more of titles.  Instead of -er than someone else, I am simply an -er.  Sing-er, writ-er, listen-er, lectur-er, runn-er, fight-er, learn-er, teach-er, lead-er, follow-er, and increasingly happi-er.

Not every -er is positive and that’s okay.  For the rest of my life, I expect to change and grow.  Things that were once sources of pride will eventually embarrass me.  Things that meant nothing will later mean everything.  That’s all fine.  I’m just beginning to accept all of my -ers and what they say about the person I am today.  Don’t like the way an -er sounds?  I guess it’s time to work on it.  Realizing a problem -er has to be my first step.  I think I’ll have to start with something easy like being a shopp-er.  (Oh wait, that’ just because of lent….)

What’s your problem -er?

Labeling herself before anyone else can,

Jo’van

Eye of the Beholder: D*mn Holiday Parties

I picked the WRONG time of year to go on a hiatus from the gym.  My 3-4 times weekly kick has passed and I’ve settled into a once a month (maybe) routine.  My third week of this slump ended up being the week of Thanksgiving and although I had dinner at a friend’s house (so no leftovers for days), I took that as a proverbial sign that I had hit the holidays and saw no reason to work out until January.  I’m not a gym New Year’s Resolution type of person and the crowd of resolution-ers in January and maybe the beginning of February will get on my nerves.  I just take breaks throughout the year.  This seemed like an appropriate time to take a break.  It didn’t sound appealing to work out just long enough to make it not hurt anymore only to stop a couple of weeks later and go through it all again.  Until of course I remembered it’s also holiday party season….

Eggnog, Jingle Bells, Mistletoe, Champagne, and Grown Up Holiday Parties.  Gone are the days of “holiday” parties in sweatshirts and tennis shoes.  December is now the time to pull out your closed-toe stilettos, cocktail dresses and clutches.  Cocktail dresses are not nearly as invasive as bathing suits but they still can flaunt the flaws (especially if you wear them as “fitted”as I do).  Satin is NOT forgiving.  The roundness that has become my abs is not well hidden.  What’s a girl to do?

1. Suck it in all night?  Simply not realistic.  I’d forget and look very different from certain picture angles.

2. Spanx? Not very comfotable.  And what if they start to roll? Or if I have to go to the bathroom?

3. Go up a size?  Sure but can’t really afford new cocktail dresses right now…

Ok, so I’m screwed.  I’ve just worn what I have and attempted to avoid pictures.  However, that didn’t last very long…

Strut like this...

Strut like this...

Looking forward to her LAST holiday party,

Jo’van

Eye of the Beholder: Shot Glass Therapy

Ok Ok.  It’s not as bad as it could sound.  It’s not the type of therapy you get from the contents of a shot glass but from the messages printed on them.  Like this one…

A Cutie with a Bootie Needs a Hottie with a Body

A Cutie with a Bootie Needs a Hottie with a Body

This particular shot glass makes me laugh because it’s so ridiculous and so true.  Only I’d substitute the “Needs” for a “Wants”.  I don’t need a man with a nice body but it sure would be nice.  🙂  But I wonder, if I’m looking for someone with a six-pack and beautiful arms, does that mean I should at least have a flat stomach and nice legs?  (Long does not equal nice, only more to shave.)

Is it unfair to want a level of attractiveness you yourself don’t live up to?  I’m average, normal, whatever. But I want to be with someone gorgeous.  Yes, that might lead to jealously or possessiveness but I’d be basking in his glory in the meantime.  I’d like to be THAT couple you see on the sidewalk when you wonder (almost out loud) “Why is he with her?”

This level of expectation is unrealistic, I understand that but somehow it creeps into my mind whenever a prospect approaches.  If I don’t know you well enough to consider you a friend, I can only evaluate you on two levels: appearance and conversation skills.  However, I’m  most often approached when shot glasses are an appropriate part of the decor.  Conversation skills are then affected by alcohol, people and noise and I’m left solely with appearance.

Is it so wrong to want a potential boyfriend to not have bigger boobs that I do?  I’m on the petite side.  Any competition could be detrimental to my self-esteem. 😦

How about a guy who’s body is pretty solid?  I’d like to be the soft one in the relationship.

And I just have a weakness for sculpted arms.  It must have something to do with a feeling of security.  Flex for me, baby. 🙂

I’ve got some expectations to re-evaluate.  Until then, I’ll just admire from afar and appreciate all of the hard work some of the guys at my gym are putting in.  Can you work out enough for the both of us? 

Dreaming of Morris Chestnut abs and Dean Cain arms,

Jo’van

Eye of the Beholder: Health vs. Vanity

I’m on a fresh gym kick right now.  I’ve had this gym membership for about two years and every few months, something prompts me to re-engage w/ the elliptical machine.  (Usually when my pants are uncomfortable.)  I’ve often said that I go to the gym b/c I like my current wardrobe and want to compliment my closet rather than start over with a larger size.  However, I wonder just how true that is.  Would I be as bothered by baggy booty from losing 23 lbs as I seem to be about the virgin-ing muffin top from gaining those 23 (seeming all in one location) in a year? 

You see the problem is that I was not properly equipt for this particular issue.  From age 4 to about 15, I was an absolute STICK.  Looking back at pictures, it was kind of sick.  No matter what I ate and how little I did, I was thin.  I graduated highschool at 5’9 and under 130 lbs.  Somewhere in college, I filled out and became “normal.”  I can handle normal.  I’ve been told it looks good on me.  I’ll take it.  (It’s very convenient that my shoe and pant sizes are now the same.)

Every time I’ve been back in the gym for a few weeks and see a slight bit of progress, I’m really tempted to just stop there.  I mean I’m just trying to tone up, not lose any weight.  (Well, that is until I really gained more than 5 lbs….)

So, I have bad knees and shoulders.  And I refuse to watch what I eat any more than the short trip it takes from my plate to my mouth.  Yes, diabetes, heart disease, and obesity run in my family.  Yes, salt and butter are my favorite ingredients for any meal.  Yes, I know that genetics are not in my favor.  BUT somehow that collection of facts is not enough to get me into the gym on a regular basis.  But give me a muffin top sighting or mid-30s looking thighs 10 years too early and you’ll soon see me huffing and puffing, breaking a sweat on the leg press with my iPod in its armband and my red Nalgene water bottle at Gold’s Gym.  (Correction: I don’t sweat, I glisten.  And by glisten, I mean sweat like a pig 5 minutes into any workout.  It’s really unattractive but I digress…)

From apples to pears, I see the shape of my future in my family.  And one day I’ll be comfortable enough with myself and/or my body to not immediately react to muffin top.  For right now though, I’ll submit to vanity and work to remain a salted, buttery piece of corn on the cob.  (Shout out to all Iowa babies!!!)

Air kiss (b/c I’m sweaty and stink),

Jo’van

  • February 2026
    S M T W T F S
    1234567
    891011121314
    15161718192021
    22232425262728
  • Archives

  • Follow The Truth: According to Jo'van on WordPress.com
  • Enter your email address to follow Jo'van and receive her updates.