Loving What Is

Recently, an old classmate posted a picture I was in from the last day of 8th grade, and another friend tagged me.

That's me in the orange!

My choral class was tasked with entertaining the 8th grade class and their families at the graduation brunch. We sang "I Will Remember You" by Sarah McLachlan, and I clutched my best friend Jamie's hand and tried not to cry.

I have always been sentimental, and I hate to see things end.

Beyond the initial flood of memories from that day and era, three things occured to me when I saw this photo.

First, I loved that dress. I loved the double french braids. I loved those socks. I loved those Delia's sandals. But holy cow, do I stand out or what? No matter. I loved that dress.

The second thing to occur to me is something I've been thinking about in the week or so that has passed since that photo was posted. Please don't mistake this as a fishing excursion for compliments, but damn, look at that body. I was hot.

The third thing that occured to me was that I was completely insecure. (I mean, check out my body language: "Nothing to see here, folks." For someone standing in the front row wearing a bright orange dress, I sure look like I want to fade into the background.) As an early bloomer who filled out years before her peers, body image has always been a huge issue for me. Many trips to the mall; many drives home from the mall in tears. There ought to be a sainthood for mothers who spent as much time as my mom did, gently saying, "Let's try another store."

It wasn't that I was overweight at that point; I recognize that in retrospect. It's that "age-appropriate" clothes did not fit me, and I wasn't ready to move to the women's section. I just couldn't find much that I liked that fit me appropriately. So when I found a bright orange dress that I loved.... :)

I think everyone has those issues. Whatever they are for each of us, they never really go away. Not completely.

So it's these issues that I still face 15 years later at age 28, as my body fails me over and over. I am still learning to accept what is. But whether I'm 11 pounds up or 8 pounds down, I will never take my body for granted again.

I hope that someone posts a picture of 28-year-old me in another 15 years (at age 43, cripe!) and I hope only two things occur to me: "I loved that dress. And damn, I was hot." Life moves too quickly for insecurity.

Home.

Well, it's official! I bought a house.

But it's more than just that. It's beginning to feel like my new home.

Having moved 11 times in the last 6 years, the idea of home has long been subjective to me. College, graduate school and those shaky, indecisive years thereafter saw me moving from apartment to apartment--as well as in and out of my parents' house on Erie Street more often than any of us care to recall (four times, precisely!).

No matter where I lived (from the fifth-floor walk-up in New York City to the college dump that I shared with three boys) Erie Street was home. Everywhere else was just temporary, while Erie Street had become part of my DNA: Where my history dated back to dozens of days running through the sprinkler, hundreds of slumber parties and thousands of PB&Js. Where my soul could be bared and I could exhale. Where life made sense. Where I felt my most creative and comfortable. I never set down roots elsewhere.

Buying your first home is a journey, no question. I once heard it described as "deepening your roots and spreading your wings"--a striking metaphor. At first I thought, but how can you do both? But I knew: It's what I've been struggling with for the past few years, waffling back and forth between big city dreams (a burning desire to spread my wings) and the vague yet insistent pull of my Midwestern roots (a sense of stability I knew I'd miss if I simply threw a dart at the map and took off). I never really set down roots (11 times in 6 years!!) but I never really spread my wings, either. I was stuck. I was skittish in every sense of the word--restless yet wary. Craving roots and freedom all at once.

By buying this house, I have managed to attain both--roots and wings. I am 2.26 miles from Erie Street--but I have 1546 square feet to make my own. Thank you for being a part of this journey.