Hippie Me

Hippie Me

I’ve noticed a black hair above my lip.  Not a hair that brushes off, mind you, it’s stuck fast to my upper lip.  It bothers me tremendously.  Not the hair part.  I’ve had hair above my lip for some time now, probably forever.  But I never noticed it before like I do now.  It’s aggravating.  I notice, too that when I put concealer on it, it just makes it look like a patch of fuzzy concealer.  Like I’m hiding a mustache.  It’s one of the many things about my face that has changed in recent years.  When I look in the mirror I see an older woman.  But I don’t identify with her at all.  I feel the same inside as I did at 16.  At least, I suppose that.  I can’t remember 16 very well.  Of what I do remember, it’s not pleasant.  Acne, peer pressure and being too skinny.  Yeah, that was a problem for me.  I’d almost love to have THAT problem again.  At any rate, the thing is, no one tells you as you get older you won’t FEEL older.

My whole life I’ve been a people pleaser.  I worry constantly about what others think.  I’ve carried it over into every part of my life.  I find myself asking my kids now if what I’m wearing is acceptable.  I used to find that hard to imagine. How many of us don't do things, don't dress a certain way, talk a certain way, exist a certain way, because of other people's scrutiny?

 

I don’t worry about being too skinny anymore.  I worry about being too fat.  I really hate that.  It eats up whole days for me sometimes.  Ha-ha EATS!  I would like to stop worrying about it.  I’d like to not care about what anyone thinks of how I look.  I’d like to be happy in my own skin.  As I get older, I keep waiting for the change to happen.  Sometimes, I felt like getting older all kinds of things would change, mostly in my personality.  Boy, that is far from the truth.  

I am overweight.  But I love wearing leggings.  Mind you, I cover my butt all the time, even though that’s not the part of me that’s big.  I read about people being overweight and wearing leggings and how ridiculous that is…how silly they look.  We are inundated with pictures making fun of folks wearing leggings and other clothing that shows their most unflattering side.  People like to judge other people who look worse than they themselves do.  We like to find fault in others but find it hard to admit it ourselves.  It prevents us from, God forbid, committing some similar atrocity.

On the cusp of 52 I’m deciding some things.  I’m deciding it’s okay to wear leggings and be overweight.  It’s also okay to wear them and be underweight.  I’ve had the lucky advantage of being both and find that either way you are equally made fun of, ridiculed or offered unasked for advice.  I don’t care anymore.  And neither should you.  I heard a report on the radio recently that said people over 30 shouldn’t wear denim.  Seriously??  I broke that rule a long time ago.  Who makes these inane rules anyhow?    Reminds me of when I was little and mom told me how important it is to not wear white shoes after Labor Day.  I didn’t understand it then and I don’t understand now.  Rules like that are just pointless.

I have long hair.  I went short for a long time when I just didn’t have time to take care of it.  I always heard that the older you get; long hair just makes you look older still.  I’m keeping my long hair.  I love it.  It feels good brushing across my back, except when a hot flash spins by me and the sweat causes it to stick to my skin.  That’s what ponytails are for.

My favorite boots are like the ones a character wears on The Walking Dead.  I’ve been told right out that they are ugly.  I suppose that on a woman past middle age, they might look ridiculous to other people too.  With all these rules, I can’t get any of it right.  

In fact, my whole life I’ve been someone who goes against the grain.  I was told once by a very good friend that when we were young their family thought I was a little “strange.”  I am.  I drive a yellow vehicle with giant lights on the top.  It’s probably a younger person’s ride.  But I love it.  It looks nothing like anything anyone else drives.  And since there were similar rides in the area, I changed mine by adding the giant lights.  I don’t want to fit in.

It’s taken a long time to realize it just isn’t who I am.  I want to be different.  I hope I’ve shown my children that it’s OK to not fit in.  I’m not always comfortable with my own decisions.  I rebel against myself at times but in my heart, I know I’m doing what feels right to me.

Stop looking around at other people.  Be who you want to be.  Fit into your own skin comfortably.  It is yours and isn’t meant to fit anyone else. We also aren’t meant to live in someone else’s skin.  Our own is exactly right for who we are.  Be individual.  Be yourself.

I’ve been called a hippie.  I hold onto that wonderful label now.  I cherish it.  I imagine when I have grandchildren someday I might even be called eccentric.  I will cherish that too.

Meanwhile, I’m going to change into some wildly colored leggings, slip on my totally rad boots and hop in my Baja for a spin!