Feeling Sexy

I woke this morning and just felt good.  I’m not talking about sexual, I’m talking about feeling beautiful, attractive, and yes, dare I say it… sexy.

I had a smile on my face, replaying bits of a beautiful conversation I had the night before and threw back the covers.  When the cool air swept over my hot body, I looked down and admired the way the edge of my panties drew my attention to my hips.  My gaze followed the dips and curves and I was pleased.  I used to hate the way they looked, but I’ve been working really hard to get into shape and this morning I admired my handiwork.  Do I think they’re perfect? No.  I still have more work to do, but I’m very happy with the results so far.  An enlightening thought hit me in that moment.  I’m not getting into shape to please anyone else, especially some shallow man, but me… and damn if that didn’t make me smile.  It has me feeling sexy.

I threw on my workout clothes, tied my hair into a pony tail, and headed toward the living room to start my morning workout.  As I passed my vanity, I stopped and gazed at my body in the mirror.  I turned to get a good look at my backside in my running pants… and smiled even bigger. Once again, I felt sexy. Could I be a model?  Hell, no! Nor would I want to be, but I’m liking the way I’m toning.  I just turned 43-years old but my body is looking younger and younger every week.  I nearly bounced all the way to the living room.

During my yoga session, instead of clearing my mind as I stretched my body, I was checking myself out, looking at all my curves, my muscles, and even all the bruises left over from the move (I sincerely look like someone beat the living hell out of me). I still have flaws and areas I don’t know if I will ever be able to repair after years of neglect and abuse, but I admired my body this morning. I noticed how much my muscles are toning and in the right accessories how hot I looked.  Would I think the same if I were completely naked and able to see all my scars?  I doubt it – but then those scars are part of who I am, the very things that have given me most of my strength.

After my yoga session and having limbered up, I started my strength training (4 for the Core, sit-ups and squats using a kettlebell and hand weights).  As I felt the burn, I smiled knowing that my pain wasn’t for nothing, because it’s working.  I’m getting stronger (hopefully soon I’ll be able to start climbing). I moved to the treadmill, set the speed, and took off.  It wasn’t long before I had to start regulating my breathing (I really need to have my lungs checked out… I do have a problem with breathing) and I could feel the sweat starting to run down the side of my face, on the back of my neck, and in other various places.  I loved that feeling as my body moved in rhythm to the treadmill.  I closed my eyes for a few moments and thought about when I first made the decision nearly two years ago to get into shape and struggled to run at all and the excitement I felt when I completed my first 1/8th of a mile.  I’m still not a great runner, but I love how it gets my heart racing.

Now hot, sweaty and struggling to breathe, I jumped into a nice tepid shower to cool off.  When that cool water hit me, I felt goose-bumps pop up all over my body.  I showered quickly and then dressed even more quickly.  For some reason this morning my clothes just fit better.  I liked the way my boobs looked in my bra, how my shirt hung just right, how my pants fit and complimented my curves.  I’m not a skinny beanpole.  I don’t have legs that go on forever.  I don’t look like a plastic Barbie doll. I look like a hot-blooded sexy woman.

When a woman feels sexy, she becomes sexy no matter what society dictates as the standard for sexiness.  She walks sexy, she smiles sexy, and she emits a sexy energy that attracts attention.  She doesn’t need tight-fitting or revealing clothes, heavy make-up, or  expensive hairdo’s to make her sexy – she just needs to feel it about herself.

I’ve already received several compliments this morning on how great I look, when I look no different than I do every other day.  I’ve noticed the new glances and the increase in smiles. The only difference is how I feel about myself.  I’m not trying to attract attention, I’m just so damned happy with how I feel about me.  This has been a long journey and struggle.  I know I’ve mentioned in these blogs over the past couple of years of how I’m falling in love with “Me”.  Today, I’m crushing on the sexy woman I noticed this morning.  I’m so proud of her and all the hard work she’s done to get herself into her current shape.  That appraisal just fuels my efforts to continue this quest even more.

So, how are you feelin’ this morning, Sexy?

Till next time,

~T.L. Gray

Being a Fool and Chasing Foolish Pursuits

I've been so busy setting new goals, kicking a lot of things I've set aside for the past year back into gear, and focusing on the tasks set in front of me that I've forgotten the main purpose that brought me to this point in my life. It's hard to keep that particular goal in the forefront, because it's not the goals the world considers important or crucial for success. 

Success is measured by the collection of things, by education and knowledge, by the achievement of status, by the acceptable recognition of things like hard work and sacrifice.  I know ...I've lived my life in pursuit of such success - the education, the career, the status, the collection of things.  I'm one of the hardest working people I know, operate with a spirit of excellence in everything I do, and have exceeded every goal I've ever set out to complete or accomplish.  And the world has loved me for it and showered me with all the praise it could afford.

Yet NONE of it satisfied me, my soul, or my heart. 

I sacrificed so much of my life in the pursuit of these 'things'.  I put "me" on hold as the last priority as I pursued them.  Where has it led me? I have an excellent education, I gained lots of material possessions, I climbed the corporate ladder, I raised my children, I built a great nest egg, I planned for my future, towed the line, walked the straight and narrow, gave as much as I gained, done my civic duty, became what was needed to make those around me proud and happy ...for what, …in pursuit of what?

Here I am once again, receiving the accolades for my hard work, my accomplishments, my successes, my drive, my determination (my weight loss, marketing, editing, support, friendship, job) ...but what of me?  What of the woman?  Once again professional, financial and successful opportunities present themselves - and I know (because I've been there so many times before) they will require sacrifice to obtain and maintain.  But what no one asks, no one considers, no one understands ...is the true sacrifice it will require - me.

I'm 42.  What has all my sacrifice in the past gained me? 

The last couple of years I took a chance, and for a moment thought about me and dared to dream, to see, to hope, and to desire the kind of woman I wanted to be - a woman happy, loved, wanted, and desired, living a life in pursuit of her passions, simply being loved, being the bright spot in someone's life by just being me, not for what I could do.  I fooled myself into believing I deserved to be that woman, there was someone out there waiting to love me, and that love and passion were the successes in life worth sacrificing for - and so I sacrificed.  I walked away from a 20-year (safe, passionless) marriage, from material possessions, from financial security, from a hard fought career, from the American dream, from nest eggs and a middle-class lifestyle.  WHY?   - For the chance to achieve the dream.

Here I am.  I look around me and feel I have failed ....ME.  I'm once again offered the kind of success that I've known all my life - a great career opportunity, financial security, the means to gain back some of those material possessions I left behind, an easement of my hardships.  I know what sacrifice they will require.  But what of my dream?  What of my passions?  I reached for them - but somehow they've slipped through my fingers. I touched them, tasted them, but for only a brief moment.  I help others reach for their dreams while my own remain stagnant.  I encourage others to take a chance on love, yet I go to sleep alone every night.  Will I only be loved for what I do, what I accomplish - not simply for who I am?  Will I never be someone's bright spot - the love of their life?

What do I choose?  I don't want to just exist. I want to live my life to the fullest.  I want to find success in happiness, in love, in passion, in health, and in adventure.  I don't want the prison of worldly success, because I know this time ...it will require my life; I will die.  I must be the biggest fool in the world to want these things, to believe I deserve them. It must be true, because I look around me and I'm the ONLY person I know who has actually put their whole life on the line to find them. All around me people talk of taking the risks, and make some minor attempts and vain efforts, but they don't jump.  They only take chances from within their secure lives - but turn away when it comes time to actually pay the sacrifice – the possibility of losing everything.  They love the idea of the jump, but still stand on the precipice, often turning away from their dreams and settle for the practical. That hurts my heart to so much to see it. I'm the only fool who jumped, and I landed flat on my face.

No one praises me for being a fool. My choices are: 1. Lay here and die. 2. Get up and continue in my madness.  3. Turn back toward the worldly mountain of success, knowing the climb will kill me, and that I'd never have the courage to jump again. I've been told all my life that if I work hard NOW, I can enjoy the fruits of my labors LATER.  Later never comes. 

I choose to remain a fool, being a fool, and chasing foolish pursuits. Though I see no fruit, no evidence, and no proof -  I still believe in love. I still believe in passion. I still believe in me as a writer, and that it's what I'm meant to do. Someday I will be loved, wanted, and desired, be someone's bright spot, the love of someone's life.  Someday my written words will inspire, move, and motivate someone else - and touch their soul, maybe even save a life – even if it’s just my own.  Yes, I know it makes no 'common' sense.  I know it defies logic and is contrary to the world's meaning of success.  I know it only makes my life more difficult, keeps me scared, broke, often hungry, and mostly alone.  I'm an artist, and I'm alive.  I'm living for me.  I so appreciate my friends who have stood beside me.  I'm proud of this fool - whether the world agrees or not.

Till next time,

~T.L. Gray