reflection

i keep thinking back to when i was a person of interest.

trying to recall what it was that made me most interesting... desperately afraid that it was only an inflated sense of my self-worth and the fact that i was, for all intents and purposes, a hermit... who liked to make papercrafts.

i think i took better care of my skin then too.

i'd like to say i took better care of my body, but that would be a lie. sure, i danced all the time, but i drank too much, slept too little, and routinely pushed the envelope a lot too far.

sleep - it isn't just for the weak anymore.

i guess the call to be interesting comes from a deep desire to be someone who my daughter will think of as cool. sure, now she thinks everything i do is awesome, but she's three... what does she know from awesome? to her a big thrill is baking, doing laundry, or scrubbing pots. what about when she's 13 and her 8th grade trip drags her off to someplace i've never been?

my deep heart keeps asking me "did you think mom was any less cool after you came back from England the first time?" no, i answer sheepishly, but all in all my mom is cooler than I am (always has been) and i shudder at my own lack of self-esteem.

i know what made me interesting and cool was being happy with who i am, in my own skin, and proud of what i've done already and what i hope to do. i know this, all of it, deep in my cells, and yet i'm having a hard time harvesting the comfort level again.

maybe it's just spring fever.