I’m a firm believer that when people ask you the age-old question, “How are you?” you should answer honestly. Easier said than done. Sometimes, “I’m good. How are you?” is easier said than speaking the truth.
Because I’m “good” but I’ve also been grumpy lately. And tired. In a funk. Napping, working, drinking my coffee and my smoothies from my hammock - living in my hammock, legs up in the sun hoping its rays will inject enough vitamin D in-between my toes to will this funk away. To make matters worse, I have a bad case of writer’s block. And I can’t tell which came first, the funk or the writer’s block.
Sometimes it’s a curse to be this observant and deeply feeling with the yearn to write it all down. What if I don’t write it all down?
And lately, my overthinking has me feeling I’m going mad. Like when I had to go to Victoria’s Secret last week to find a pair of panties that “represents my personality” for a bachelorette party.
Trying to boil yourself down to the confines of a skimpy piece of fabric is as hard as it seems.
For a moment, I considered coming empty-handed to the panty party because I feel most like myself without any panties on. (The recovering Baptist Christian in me is cringing as I type this out, but Jesus loves her too.)
Instead, I settled on a pair of black (even though my sad beige heart said otherwise), silky, cheeky thong panties with a touch of lace and a bow because my introduction to 10 girls I don’t know can’t just be the 100% cotton Calvin Klein thongs I don daily. I’m practical, utilitarian, rigid, and unavailable for even the slightest discomfort around my derriere these days.
Victoria may have her secrets, but that’s mine.
And I suppose I could introduce myself with my Calvin Kleins, and I know my therapist would say that I could consider it. But she would also offer that I honor my inherent want and need to keep myself safe from behind the shield of my sheer, what I’m now calling, “representative panties.”
It’s okay to be guarded until further notice.
Because 10 girls you don’t know at a bachelorette party can bring up a lot of sh*t for a 29-year-old woman - like all the times she was bullied and made fun of and laughed at and made to feel like the odd girl out.
Like all the times she adjusted for a chance to be “even girl in,” straightening her naturally curly hair. Eating less, fretting over outfits instead of fractions with the word “Abercrombie” across her undeveloped chest made to look more developed with a push-up bra.
And wearing the “right” panties on gym days when she would have to dress down in the locker room.
Seeking approval elementary through middle school from girls named Mady and McKenzie. In high school, Rebecca and Bethany and Jessica. In college, it was Jane.
Not because I actually cared about what they thought about me, but because I cared about what they would make others think about me before I had a chance to speak for myself. And I didn’t speak for myself much because I was shy. (I still am. I just hide it well.)
Which came first? - The shy girl or the mean girls?
Plus, no one likes to be pushed to the outside of the circle, pantsed in P.E., screamed at in P.E. - and on the softball field and the basketball court, and from behind the volleyball net.
No one likes to be the subject of a stick drawing work-of-art taped to the wall of your high school English class titled, “Don’t Hate the Game, Hate the Player,” with wild and unruly scribbles depicting your curly hair.
No one likes to have a mustache smudged across your upper lip of your picture in the newspaper at a public event by the girl pictured next to you, and be stonewalled on your 21st birthday by your roommate - someone you opened up to and thought was your friend.
These are just the highlights.
Oh, and I almost forgot about the girl named Kimberly who was in fourth grade when I was in third and decided that library time was the perfect opportunity to walk straight up to me just to tell me she didn’t like me because I had curly hair.
That just might be where it all began - the mismatch of my insides and my outsides, and the reason for “representative panties.”
But then, in addition to buying my “representative panties” last week, I finally found Jacqueline, my first true girlfriend from first grade after years of searching for her on Facebook (the only thing Facebook is good for these days). She moved away and I never got to say goodbye to her because she was sick during her last days as a student in Mrs. Hartley’s class.
She was quiet, shy, and reserved like me. She liked to read and she was good at it, just like me. I remember her big kind brown eyes and her matching brown hair, her soft-spoken ness, her gentle smile, and the way I felt when I was with her - understood and accepted for who I am. No adjustments necessary.
The only thing I couldn’t remember all these years was how to spell her last name. Until now.
So I sent her a message and I told her that I hope she remembers me because I never forgot her all these years. I told her I wanted to say hello and that I hope she’s doing well.
- That she was such an incredible friend to first grade me.
As I sit firmly in the last year of my 20s (and in my 100% cotton Calvin Klein thongs), I realize that the work of my 29th year and my 30s is to continue to make my outsides match my insides and to find more Jacquelines along the way.
And it starts with answering the age-old question, “How are you?” honestly.
I love how you take the subtle things in our lives and breath meaning into them. They always had meaning...we just kind of ignored and adjusted life to absorb them as normal things. In fact...as i was reading your list of "moments" I was taken back to my childhood with similar moments that contributed much to who I am. Fortunately for me ( weird thing to say) I was not raised a Christian and found my faith at age 15, which gave me a perspective on faith I may not have appreciated if I was raised in it. I was able to unwrap many of those moments in context with my faith, which gave me a lot of insight and understanding into the downside of being in the human race. But also showed me the good parts we are capable of. The inevitable state of imperfection that we probably will never escape as long as we live on this planet. But I would say that I am much improved because of the healing from my faith....by the grace I developed for the mean and cruel things humans do. Most act out on what they have been conditioned to do.... But...Meg...I just love your honesty and raw exposure. I wish I was 40 years younger...I think we would have tons to talk about and would have been good friends. You are pretty special !
Wow Meg! How healing! Anyone who has been in middle school can relate! It is interesting what sticks with us. So thought provoking.