My Story: Transformation

When I was a child, I often said I wanted to be a teacher, a nurse, a hairdresser, a fashion designer, a musician, and a mom. I was good in school and enjoyed reading, writing, and learning in general.  But I didn’t exactly like the social scene at school and experienced a shocking disconnect from the acceptance and safety of my home cocoon.  I don’t recall how I decided I wasn’t “pretty” in comparison to the other girls, but I felt it with my entire being.  Of all the things I wished I could be, “pretty” is what I wanted the most.  I wanted it with my entire little being, more than I wanted anything. I wished for it every day with my entire heart and soul. I prayed for it without ceasing as if my life depended upon it.  The valuable lesson I would be shown later wasn’t any answer I could have easily understood in my 7-year old mind, and I was unaware of the damage being done in the name of making comparisons. The path to embracing my uniqueness was twisty and turning, yet along the way, it revealed a zillion examples of what “pretty” would come to mean.  I’d love to share some of my findings, and there’s no better place to start than the beginning.  Let’s walk together down my memory lane. I’m thinking many of you will find similar stories to your own.

In the summer, as most Gen-Xers, we were banished from the house at dawn by our parents, left to fend for ourselves all day – which meant drinking water straight from the hose, playing in the lawn sprinkler, and running around outside until dusk to catch fireflies. Exploring the great unknown of our woodsy backyard, we would make up elaborate games of House, School, and our version of epic hide-and-seek that a childhood friend called, “Spy”.  Poison Ivy anyone?  I can still feel the warm sunshine (and the itchy red rash). I see in my mind the vivid colors of the green trees and the blue sky. I can hear the chirping birds, and smell the award-winning flowers my mom grew in our garden. Pretty indeed.

In the winter, we would line our boots with bread bags (yes, for real!) and sled all day until we were frozen, soaked, and ready for hot chocolate. There were the 70’s dance parties in my bedroom, Barbie’s Dream World, and Fashion Plates to entertain on rainy days. Thanks to my groovy, cool grandparents, we had record players, albums, and a disco ball light machine to dance the night away while annoying my parents with our hopping around. I spent hours amusing myself by playing with makeup, drawing, leafing through fashion magazines, and just simply enjoying the freedom of childhood to do whatever I wanted whenever I wanted.  Like most adults, I forgot how to dabble, dream, and delight in the world of play – until I recently re-discovered the beauty of unstructured time.  It’s quite pretty to create space for oneself.

We lived near both sets of grandparents, and I was fortunate to be able to visit with them until I was in my 30’s.  My family took very seriously the ritual coffee and conversation (And cigarettes too. It was the 70s. Enough said.)  Much to my childhood delight, there was always a treat offered to keep us kids quiet while the adults were endlessly talking on and on and on…  Watching my grandmother cook was as much of a treat as the amazing things she created in her kitchen. It was as if I had a real-life cooking show going on right in front of me.  Her iconic, delicious food and lively parties in her retro basement bar remain unforgettable. My paternal grandparents lived down the street, and I’d go there frequently to eavesdrop on my grandmother speaking French with her sisters. I adored and envied her relationship with them, as I had only my two-headed brother to keep me company. (Love you, Mark! You’re my favorite brother!) My great aunts always made me feel smart and accepted, especially during a time when I felt like the chubby weird girl at school.  I’m no longer chubby, but I remain weird and fiercely proud of it! Like my grandmothers, I love to share my home and the food I cook. I am inspired by those who create and share recipes for the rest of us to replicate, and I hope that my appreciation for the art of the dinner party brings nourishment and beauty into the lives of those who visit with me.  I can think of fewer things more pretty than sharing time conversing with a loved one over food that has been thoughtfully prepared (whether it was by you or someone else!)

My grandmothers were classy and gorgeous, and I wanted to grow up to be just like them – maybe without the alcoholism, but that’s a story for another time.  To this day, I emulate my grandmother’s classic red lip and her “put together-ness”.  They were nurturers and each completely unique. As masters of matriarchy in our family, they were ultimately responsible for the apothecary of magic carried through traditions they created and those handed down from the generations before.  I attribute much of who I am to these stylish and iconic women.  I don’t know when it finally occurred to me that I was considered what some would go on to call “pretty”.  Plenty of people told me I was throughout the years. I accepted the compliment graciously with a “thank you very much”.  And somewhere along the way, I forgot to care, as I discovered so much more I wanted to be, do, and have.  I found it not only pretty, but also quite beautiful, to be liberated by the freedom of expressing my individuality no matter how I choose to adorn my outward appearance each day.

So here we are, back to now.  Thanks for going on this little trip down memory lane with me.  My hope here is that you’ll find inspiration and courage to drop the guilt, the shame, the should-have’s and could-have’s, and any comparisons you’re making to other people.  Grab a cup of coffee or tea, or a cocktail, depending on what kind of day you’re having!  Sit down and stay awhile. Let’s share stories. I’d love to hear yours and get a glimpse of your own uniqueness.  What is it that you wanted to be when you were little?  What did you learn along the way? And what do you want today?