Hardly adopting to the rigors of social demands, I was not completely stalwarthy in avoiding the traps of beauty standards. In younger versions of myself, various makeup and sundries jostled for position atop the bureau or bathroom sink. Daily, I wrestled my inner demons for the right to go au naturel, but at the eleventh hour, I lay wasted, defeated, with a painted face and acrylic nails to boot. Clearly, I never took myself seriously. Had I no self respect?
This was no more apparent to me then sometime in my twenties, when I went to a farm to apply for work. Dressed to the nines, the owner gave me the self-defeating half smile and smartly turned me away. At no point was I surprised...frustrated yes, but not surprised.
Self respect would require a few more rounds of firings, a couple of relationship failures, and a complete bottoming out before the soil proved ready to til. Certainly, throughout those years, I had moments of high regard, but they were inconsistent, shallow, and immaturely undeveloped - no match for this game of life.
Some thirty years later, I would like to claim complete mastery of self respect - but that would be a lie. Rather, I sit with the discord of harmony misunderstood - and gather the loose ends of a wondrously frayed life with the gentle resassurance that I am enough.
