At least seven times in my life I have committed crimes against my hair that violated the Geneva Conventions. Despite abundant evidence that should have discouraged me, every few years I’d get the notion to give bangs a try. No matter the cowlick that has been front and center on my curly head my entire life and has resisted all attempts to brush, berate, or beg it into submission, I’d swoon over pictures of flirty, fashionable bangs (I’m talking to you, Zooey Deschanel and Kerry Washington) and convince myself that this time would be different. It wasn’t. I’d like to say that my habit of overestimating the power of positive thinking didn’t extend beyond my hairstyles, but that would be untrue. I’m working on it.
I tried to calculate the amount of time I’ve devoted to forcing or feeling bad about things that are simply not for me, but I stopped when I realized the answer could be depressing. Maybe just as surely as a cat will always be on the wrong side of every door, we will be tempted to focus our energy on that which isn’t meant for us, even to the exclusion of seeing those things which are. I made it a goal for my fiftieth year to be curious about anything that felt as though it required constant hoop-jumping or proving of my worth. Of course there are always people and experiences that are worth all the time and effort we pour into them; they express appreciation, they reciprocate, they make us feel as though we are exactly who and where we’re meant to be, even while they inspire us to grow. But when we feel as though an essential part of ourselves is wrong or that we must constantly demonstrate that we deserve respect, opportunities, or love, shouldn’t we question why we’re giving away our precious, limited time to these pursuits?
For years I punished my body for not accommodating an itsy bitsy bikini the way I though it should. I still have (many) moments when I’d like to be my husband’s arm candy, but I’ve come to respect that my physique, even in my youth, was better built for hauling hay and being the base of cheerleader pyramids, and I am grateful for its strength. I shouldn’t expect a call from Sports Illustrated to grace the cover of its swimsuit issue, but I happily console myself with knowing I can fight people twice my size and feel confident of victory.
As my husband and I are preparing to move cross country, returning to the town where I’ve spent most of my life, I’ve learned that the void we create by leaving is quite naturally filled and that life goes on. Sure, I felt a bit like George Bailey looking in on life in Bedford Falls without him, but the moment passed and I was reminded that even if something was meant for us at one time it does not necessarily mean this always will be so. And that is okay. Without fail, opportunities present themselves and we’re given the chance at experiences our limited understanding could never have predicted.
The idea that “you can do anything you put your mind to” seems like one of the most encouraging phrases we can share with someone who is working toward a goal. But I’m not so sure it really is. I wish my hair would cooperate with my desire for face fringe, I really did give those Beach Body Workout VHS tapes the ole college try, and I hoped that slipping back into a professional role after a prolonged absence would be as natural as pulling on my stretchy pants after enduring a day of Spanx. But no matter the effort I gave to any of these, they were not in the cards for me. And that is no poor reflection on me or anyone else. When we embrace who we are and where we are, and combine that with the commitment to and gratitude for that which life has gifted us, it’s pretty amazing how those closed doors start looking a whole lot like open windows.
PartWolf 