This year I resolve to not give up. It’s more complicated than it sounds.
A few days ago, I was at the nail salon (again!) staring into their wall size mirror behind the manicure stations. It’s an inescapable mirror. The only other option is to stare at your hands or to actually try to hold a conversation with the manicurist. The image reflected in that mirror was not so different than the one I saw there last year. I’m still within my ten pound weight range (albeit closer to the top of that range than I would like). Wrinkles aren’t multiplying at breakneck speed. Nothing in my reflection to fill me with terror. But looking into it, I was reminded of one of my favorite passages from a novel. In The Divine Secrets of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood , one of the main characters, Vivi, is giving advice to a friend of hers about cosmetics, hair and clothing. The friend tells her that she cannot afford to buy all these things just to look good and Vivi replies, “You can’t afford not to.” This has become something akin to my personal motto.
I was feeling guilt as I looked into that mirror because I was paying to have my nails done. Obviously I don’t have a ton of unallocated income. There are probably lots of other items I could put that bi-weekly sum toward. This thought scared me because this is how the downhill slide for me generally begins. I start to think of all the reasons I should not value my appearance in a “mommy-martyr” kind of way and pretty soon I find myself wearing sweatpants and hiding in the house for six years. I just can’t take a chance on ever going down that road again.
I guess it’s a positive sign that I feel confident enough in my relationship with Kevin that I don’t think he will dump me over a bad hair, face, or butt day. But would he be so understanding about a bad hair, face or butt year? The answer really doesn’t matter. What I learned the last time I slid down the hill is that it matters to me. I’m not the same Rachel when I dress to be invisible. I’m not the same Rachel when I try to hide my horribly unmanicured hands. I’m not the same Rachel when I give up.
I don’t think I’m vain. I don’t really have to look better than anyone else. I just need to feel as if I’m taking some pride in myself. It’s just a willful decision to fight the part of me that settles so quickly into a rut.
I can’t afford not to.
