I'm starting a love affair with myself.
It's an affair that should have started years ago, but hadn't. It's just been a flirtation over the years, an occasional dalliance but nothing substantive.
Being laid up with a broken leg has left me longing for what could be. It's left me free to dream of who I want to be.. The year I was 27 was a perfect example of a flirtation with myself. I had a great job and was doing well financially. I had a great social life. I went to lectures and art gallery openings. I attended the symphony, opera and ballet. I went to the theater. I did sunday brunch. I belonged to both a bible study and a book group. I belonged to a writers group, and even read my poetry at slams. I did volunteer work that both grounded me and let me soar to new heights. I took cooking classes at Williams Sonoma. I rode my bike on the tow path from Washington Crossing to Frenchtown. I kayaked. I hiked. I ran and played tennis regularly. I went to the gym everyday l.had a shore rental at LBI. I wore a size 9 and rocked it. I got regular manicures and pedicures. My hair looked awesome. I went dancing, both swing dance and at the club. I hosted dinner parties, and other ones too. That year was a perfect year in my life.
I have no expectation that this perfection will ever come again. Looking back on it, I feel like Proust waxing poetic on Madelines.
Today I'm onto another chapter of my life. I work. I'm a mom. I have a house to maintain. All of which take up time, which leaves me less time for other pursuits, especially those which don't include the rest of the family. I don't have the same opportunity in South Dakota that I did in Princeton for many things. I have a very different group of friends here than I did before. I'm in a different chapter of my life. I'm lucky I make it past 9 most nights. My gym is in my basement. I do my own nails most of the time. I most certainly am no longer a size 9. I don't think id fit into a kayak. My son doesn't enjoy the outdoors like I do. I couldn't tell you the last time I danced other than boogieing around the house whilst cleaning.
There are lessons in all of that, where I can excavate parts of the 27 year old me and graft them onto the 42 year old me. The transplant might not be successful but it's worth trying.
1 comment:
an honest autobiographical piece....had to laugh at the 'size 9' reference!
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