Even legends like Phil Collins have off days. Phil Collins “Against All Odds (Take a Look at Me Now) Live”
As I’m preparing to head back to Nashville for Christmas, I started reflecting on the type of person I was when I lived there. I left right after high school and have only returned to visit….
I’m what grandmas would call a bit of a late bloomer. My youth and young adulthood were spent largely playing catch up with my contemporaries. Teeth, walking, talking, puberty, a “womanly shape”, whatever the case might have been, I was physically behind. Having finally caught up, I remember vainly hoping my body would just hurry up. “Come on. What’s taking so long? Grow those, shrink that, fill out here, just do something.”
High school was especially interesting. I had the personality of a 40-year-old with the body of a 12-year-old boy. (Maybe not really the boy part but that’s how it feels when you think everyone else looks like a coke bottle and you more closely resemble a ruler.) That was not exactly a winning combination. I never really had to worry about the boys falling head over heels. To be honest, I’m a little thankful for that lack of attention now. I, at least, never have to deal with losing that level of interest. I can imagine that change would be even more upsetting than never having it. But, trust, it sucked then. The only people who paid any attention were good friends who just seemed to realize I was a female. Very flattering. 🙂
My mother being the oh-so-sensitive person she can be once told me she’d worried about me getting her families voluptuous tops and my father’s family’s full-figured bottoms. I may have gotten a bit of the bottom but the top….not so much. When it became obvious that wasn’t going to be the case, she stopped worrying about fighting the boys off with sticks. Yes, it’s funny NOW. But not then. Thanks, Mom…
In fact, the only curve I seemed to truly develop didn’t really enter the picture until the summer between my sophomore and junior year of college. I came back that fall semester and my close and close-ish male friends all tried to find ways to tell me or ask where my ass came from. Having no idea what it was they were trying to say to me made the entire experience comical. I had 4 or 5 normally outspoken guys trying to not offend me but overly curious what I’d been eating that summer. I’ll never forget that. Haha.
Anyway, with this delayed overall development, I never quite learned how to take compliments and general interest from the opposite sex based solely on my appearance. Past middle school and junior high, I never thought of myself as truly ugly. I could recognize I had traits that could be worked with. But I never truly felt pretty. Just somewhere in-between. Now, I’m not saying that I consider myself to be gorgeous now. I just recognize that things could be a lot worse for me. And most importantly, I’m more comfortable with myself.
We always hear it. People become more comfortable with what God’s given them as they mature. Sure, there are things we’re never going to like about ourselves. But we also come to accept that’s just the way things are going to be. Some people are so stuck on perfection that they find expensive, potentially dangerous ways to “fix” things about themselves. To be honest, I’m not knocking plastic surgery. I agree that some people go way overboard but one or two procedures? Why not? If it’s that important to you and you are content with the “improvements”, go for it. Who am I to define your happiness? However, for myself, I’m simply too lazy to go under the knife to look good. I’d rather take that money and travel to a far away, exotic land. Who cares if I’m not beautiful as long as the scenery in the background of my photos is?
I’ve been told and recognize that this new found sense of contentment/comfort is attractive. Unless you’re pretty enough to excuse all faults, few people are interested in a completely insecure person. Let me be pleasantly average physically with confidence, a brain and a decent sense of humor. I’ll be happier with myself. Anyone that’s willing to take on the challenge that is getting to know me, come on. I welcome you. Trust me, a bleeding, guarded heart is an unusual combination. I like to be different. 🙂
Back in my awkward days, I assumed anyone that showed any interest in me was completely full of shit. Of course, no one would realistically be interested in me. Unfortunately, at that age, the young men are just as insecure and not willing to be persistent. Rejection hurts both ways. However, as I’ve grown up and been forced to realize I’m not all that bad, I haven’t seemed to outgrow the initial assumption people have an agenda. Either it’s a test or a trick. Either way, I’m not interested. Just let me be the friend. I like that role and I’m comfortable in it. Tell me I’m smart. Tell me I’m funny. Tell me I have a big heart. But as soon as you tell me I’m pretty, I will shut you down. Yes, I realize I have some issues to work on. I’m just airing them in this post. Hopefully, one of these days, I’ll be able to write that I took a compliment with no arguments, blushing or downcast eyes. I’ve got a lot of work to do. But then again I’ve already come a long way…
Thankful she’s at least outgrown Urkelina,
Jo’van
The Truth: According to Jo'van 