Six Saturday Morning Musings: From Being Naked to Even Rachel Wood
Original Posted: 2017
Being naked is the best way to be.
I am never more confident or comfortable than when I am naked, simply because I am not worried about how these pants fit or how that top makes me look; how everything goes together (or doesn’t). I just enjoy the fit of my own skin, muscle, fat. I feel the blood pulsing through my body and pumping my heart against the warm, white cage inside my chest. It’s all so raw and sensual and free.
Everyone should dance naked. Bring your body to the moon, down to the ground, let it cut through the air and feel the world around you. Touch it to the universe with your turns and twirls and writhing.
I like to bend my naked body in the mirror and see the different shapes it’s capable of making. What a crazy, flexible little spaceship my body is. Look in the mirror at your naked body and tell it that you love it; that you’re grateful for its dips and curves and valleys. Thank it for the days it keeps you up, and forgive it for the days it lets you down.
Touch every part of your naked body. Make love to it like you would to a lover’s naked body. Worship its strange spots and hot spots and the spots you never really get to see.
If nothing else, one should always be naked in bed.
Not only is it the most comfortable, least restrictive way to sleep, but it brings out a certain delicious appreciation for one’s own body. The glorious feeling of stretching against sheets and blankets like a cat in the sunshine brings a shiver of complete and total contentedness. The pure simplicity of waking up your body in its natural state.
My body needs water. My heart needs coffee. And my brain needs beer.
I am becoming much better friends with my flaws.
I am stubborn. I am competitive.
I am a control freak. I am sensitive.
I have a temper that I stamp down until weeks of rage explode over something as simple as a broken nail or change of plans.
I can be selfish, and impulsive, and needy, and overwhelming in my size.
Jealousy creeps up sometimes and tries to bite me with its tiny, twisted fangs.
I feel things way too deeply and jump to conclusions. I am learning to talk myself out of it.
I am loud loud LOUD, perhaps when it is least appropriate to be.
I am a wild fucking ride.
But if I do not hug these pieces of me, accept them as I accept the brighter parts- the safer parts, the parts that are more desirable- I cannot begin to place them correctly. I cannot hold myself accountable, and I cannot be true to my puzzle.
If I do not accept them, I am nothing but an insecure little dragon, and since (on my best days) I am a confident queen, this would be a contradiction.
I would not like to add hypocrisy to my pieces. “Perfect” is a dirty word, and really fucking boring.
I think that peanut butter is severely overrated, but will defend pumpkin-flavored everything to my last breath.
A few thoughts on “adulting.”
I admit it: I don’t think I really felt like an adult until I got my license and my car.
….I still don’t totally feel like one most days.
However, I do use the phrase “I’m an adult” as a defense mechanism on the reg. Or maybe I’m just trying to convince myself.
I can beat the crap out of myself for not being enough of a grown-up, and do. Often. Most of my friends are older than me, and sometimes I forget that I’m not older than I am. And so, I get frustrated with my 26-year-old self for not knowing-seeing-doing more.
I’m thinking I should take a gentler, more patient approach with my own journey.
I’ve never understood why people are obsessed with age. I can feel people rolling their eyes at me because I’m young, but I don’t mean quite what you think. Ever since I was ten years old, I remember thinking on my birthday: “I will never be this age again, so I had better make it good.”
If I spend every year longing for years before, one day I may find myself at 80 realizing I sacrificed every age for the wish of a smaller number.
I see this longing in my father. He lives in lost memories and dreams, and so he cannot see us standing here before him. I won’t let that be me.
“I will never be this age again, so I had better make it good.”
I’d like to think I’ll hold onto this mantra every year that I am lucky enough to be alive.
If I ever have the opportunity to meet Evan Rachel Wood, I will not be able to stop myself from proposing on the spot.