Sitting at an agency model casting with 50 other models– the oh-so thin, unwrinkled, fresh, tan (hello, its January) and fit. I’m feeling unwealthy, out of shape, old-er, completely out if touch, and un-
worldly. The girls are all talking about other markets (“I just came in from London…” “My flat in Milan…), carrying their YSL totes and mini dog accessories, lamenting their boyfriends, portfolios, and bookers.
(Funny, I used to be their ages, but I don’t remember ever having their lives. And I obviously don’t live it now.)
At 43 (*sigh*), I’m considered “settled”– what I used to ache for, the feeling of security with a home & consistency. But I still feel like I have no home, no consistency. Each day pops up different and the fix-it-uper home we are hoping to rent and eventually buy feels elusive and distant.
What I do have (please be patient with me as I work through my insecurities and remember my blessings):
I have a man who is my constant, my mate. I have family: a 4 year old son and my 2 feline moggies. I am fairly fit– I work out when I can, when I have time and energy. But I’m thin: my size 6 body is ‘acceptable’ by model standards, ‘skinny’ by civilians.
I have friends — real, true friends. Not the people I ‘know’ cuz I see them around town. Instead, the kind of friends I can call when I’m so lonely I feel like I’m falling off a cliff; the kind who celebrate my mini triumphs with real joy, no jealousies. The kind of friends who accept me for who I am, motorcycle boots, stonewashed sweaters, and all.
I have passion, brains, and means: co-creating a new company, going back to college, I travel whenever I can (for fun and jobs), and I don’t want for anything materially. We have enough.
I am rich. By normal and hip-less people alike. And I am grateful. Whew. Another day of insecuries dissapated.