Pixie in Paradise

When I was traveling this past October with Anna, my friend from London who I met in Belize, we ate many of our meals together. In my opinion we had some of our best talks over these meals, and even though we only knew each other for two weeks before embarking on the trip, we were able to converse rather easily. Anna is very straightforward, almost to the point of being too blunt, and with that British accent it comes off pretty harsh sometimes. She’s also incredibly insightful about so many things so she’s very interesting to chat with on many different subjects.

Anna and I were talking over dinner one night in our apartment in San Jose about men and how dysfunctional dating is these days. I told her twenty years ago a lot of men wanted skinny blondes – “Barbies” – but now they want Jennifer Lopez lookalikes. I told her I can’t compete anymore with all of the curvy women that have seemingly come out of nowhere: ass, boobs, fake lashes, hair extensions, fake nails. I don’t even want to compete with that. Don’t even get me started on the BBL, because I don’t see anything attractive about having a rectangular brick-shape to your peaches. “Butt” (just kidding) but, to each their own.

She stopped me mid-sentence, stared me in the eyes and said, “Your looks are the least interesting thing about you.“ Keep in mind I’d only known this person for two weeks. Coming from someone with that accent and her very matter of fact personality on top of that, the words truly stopped me in my tracks. Anna made it feel like those words were directed specifically at me, but I’m sure she meant it for females as a collective.

I had nothing to say after that but it got me to think, which it needed to. And I said, “I’m not competing.” Her words really hit home. As long as I am my best self and happy with myself, I don’t give a fuck what anyone stuffs in their butt (cheeks or otherwise) or their bra, thinking that will attract their soulmate or a one-night stand, whatever they desire. I hope we’re all trying to be our best selves but it concerns me that a lot of people are putting too much emphasis on their outer shell and not doing more work on their inner selves.

I actually worry for women like that. Too much concentration on what their outer shell looks like and not enough about their inside. Trauma. Are those nails going to help you deal with your trauma? Have you dealt with your trauma, in some sort of legitimate therapy or reading books written by experts? Social media is bullshit in terms of truly healing the trauma or dysfunction within each of us (and we all do have some to varying degrees). But there is strength in numbers, if you can find access to the right snippets, reels, tik toks, videos – whatever the kids call it these days. There is some fairly solid sound advice out there on technology and it does help…as much as it’s hurting. Social media is a double-edged sword. We find common ground there but then also see the things that make us insecure or question our identity, or, if we’re “enough.”

These fake lives on social media are only showing the public what we want to. At the same time we are providing outlets for helping or asking for help. We’re posting ideas or truths about ourselves, but also seeing people throwing images and concepts at us that make us insecure.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m still going to post photos or videos of myself on social media. I will still do photo shoots because they make me feel energized, sexy, empowered, vibrant and alive. Like I’m the embodiment of 1990’s slang: “all that, plus a bag of chips!” I like celebrating myself because let’s face it: if you do not celebrate yourself, who will? If YOU are not your biggest cheerleader, who will be? The truthful, most honest answer is: NO ONE.

***

Walking along the beach the other day thinking about my discussion four months ago with Anna, these thoughts entered my head as I gazed at all of the surroundings. I remembered a recent discussion with another friend who was trying to paraphrase a well-known quote. She said something like, “The things you find beauty in is what you see in yourself.” I think she was paraphrasing Rumi who said, “The beauty you see in me is a reflection of you.”

I find beauty in everything and everywhere down here in Costa Rica, not necessarily everyone. After all, humans are humans and we can be a sketchy bunch. But, I do see beauty everywhere down here and I hope that this new lens or pair of rose-colored glasses follows me everywhere I go, even when I have to be away from this jungle or the ocean. The realistic part of me says it might not because I do prefer the tropical climate and ocean to the desert I will soon return to. I don’t want to look at cacti and rocks. I see beauty in every single thing right now in front of me from water to beach, jungle, all of the animals (even the scary ones!), sun, clouds, sky and tropical rain. I see it absolutely everywhere, in everything. The waves. Colors, they’re so vivid. I was thinking about how that applies to me and yes, I do believe I’m beautiful for the most part, stunning, even. Starting to show mental and physical age and a real first-degree hellion, but, a lot of us are. Sweet with the sour: we’re all complicated little dishes of Chinese food. 

(Remember how I said I was walking down the beach when I had these thoughts? Well, mid ponder I walked too close to the water and managed to get a little seawater and black sand splashed into my butt crack! Writing is a hazardous occupation. Moving on from that ocean douche…)

I do see the beauty in myself inside and out. In that outer shell I’m still a bit critical, nothing too major in my opinion, but my friends don’t seem to see the flaws. They see so much beauty and tell me frequently. I’m blown away sometimes by how they view me, right? It’s really overwhelming at times and I’m humbled, extremely humbled that these dazzling creatures think I belong in their pack. These are people who’ve known me for decades and still see the beauty even though they’ve witnessed all my moods and phases and eclectic tastes in everything from clothes and music, to men. I feel like a real chaos goblin sometimes!

These women have seen some real variation in all of it. They’ve also witnessed some very stark changes in me, most of which I feel are for the better. This admiration for yours truly isn’t coming from average humans either. These are women – and men – who I categorize as above average. To be above average in my book doesn’t mean you are the richest or have the most material belongings, biggest house or the most perceived power. The above average people in my life have any combination of intelligence – specifically, emotional intelligence – smarts, magic, kindness, compassion and all of the other wonderful traits you’d want to throw into a cauldron casting the spell that created them.

In the last two years especially, I see aging more significantly in my outer shell. (I mean, we do have to just mention the last four years spent in a pandemic which did a number on all of us, but I don’t want to use that as an excuse as to why my butt has less muscle). In the time living abroad I’ve dropped weight because activity levels are so much higher here. I don’t drive anymore, we walk or bicycle, everything is human-powered energy. I love this about my new life. When I return to the US I will have to mix walking with the occasional Lyft/Uber ride, since I’m not planning on buying a car. We’ll see how much I love walking everywhere still when Tucson hits a sunny 115 degrees and I need to be somewhere in a fancy silk dress!

Part of the skinny struggle may be because I’m never eating enough to meet the physical demands of Central American life. However, I’m still addicted to chicken wings and pasta, and in full transparency I’ve had pancakes twice this week for breakfast. It’s like I’m threatening my ab muscles to never return! Holy shit, I gotta get a grip and grab more fresh produce that is available literally on every street corner. That’s part of the skinny though: the produce is so fresh and delicious here that I end up eating many meatless meals, salads piled high and spilling over the plate dressed with coconut oil and vinegar, fresh fruit juices mixed with water. I adore the food here.

I’m not doing nearly as much yoga as I used to, or should. Daily yoga has turned into weekly yoga; as in, I’m practicing once or twice weekly. Shameful, but I’d rather walk long distances on the beach enjoying the sun and sand. By the time I am done with that I’ve expended too much energy for much else and am hungry again. These are weak excuses but feel legitimate when in the moment.

I see the changes in my skin. I’d honestly love to wear scarves around my neck all the time. Ladies – in case no one has told you yet, our necks age faster than our faces! Lather that sunscreen on your face, neck (don’t forget the “chestical” cleavage area, sisters) and hands. Do it! My legs aren’t as awesome as they used to be either, but they’re still cute. These quadricep muscles could stop traffic six years ago. Shit, they were hot, and I did appreciate them then but would I have appreciated them even more had I known how tiny they’d be now? Possibly. I don’t have as much juicy muscle in them or my glutes, but I’m still going to cruise the beach in the tiniest of bikinis because I don’t give a shit enough to cover up. I just don’t. I’m still healthy and getting mistaken for a much younger woman than I am, which isn’t the point of life, but it means I’m aging well – keepin’ it tight!

I’m grateful for who and what I am and how far I’ve come and that I’m healthy. Skinnier, but no less feisty and surely not the scariest thing touting flesh on the beach. (European men love to wear Speedo swim trunks. All of them, any age. Enough said.)

Looks: least interesting thing about me. Who knew?