Hey, Pretty Girl

Recently, as a man greeted me on the phone with the salutation, “Hey, pretty girl” I tried to figure out why it sends an exhilarating thrill down my spine to hear a member of the opposite sex declare me to be attractive. And why is it that I can’t believe it myself? And why does it matter?

Physical beauty is, of course, relative. There are as many different styles and types as there are people to appreciate them. So is it that my type of beauty is only made for a certain type of appreciator?

I was married to a man for 15+ years who told me, multiple times a day, that I was beautiful. The unfortunate thing is that I came to not believe it because I heard it so often and because the source was someone who I felt was obligated to tell me I was beautiful, even though I didn’t ask him to.

He discovered what I believe is my true beauty before we even started dating, on a mountain in July 1996. He found what was most important to me, identified it, realized that it made me truly radiant, saw that it made me expose the true nature of my relationship to my God, and fell head-over-heels in love with that.

But yet, over time, even though he kept reinforcing that I was beautiful, I stopped believing that I was beautiful. So, what is it that makes a woman feel beautiful?

Obviously beauty comes from within. But what do we do that makes us stop feeling that way? And why was it so important to me to hear another man say it out loud? Especially when, lately, there have been several moments when I’ve felt lovely?

Most women who I’ve discussed this with truly doubt their own beauty. And yet I know many very beautiful women. But then what about those people whose physical appearance just isn’t all that amazing? We all know them. The people we look at and say, “Huh.” Does that mean that they’re not beautiful? Obviously not. The Christlike part of me would say everybody is a child of God and therefore everybody is beautiful. Yet, there are physical differences between people’s beauty. How do you account for that? How do you find the beauty in yourself when you’re comparing it against someone else’s standard?

It take me back to that “thing” that somebody identified in me, on a mountaintop, in 1996. If I recall that day—a day when I ended up being more beautiful than ever—I wasn’t dressed particularly wonderful. My hair was kind of askew, especially because it was sort of windy. And there wasn’t really any attempt to be beautiful on my part. But that was just it: I was just being myself. And I was 100% okay with who I was at that moment.

So possibly this quest to “fall in love with myself” is really a quest to find that “thing” in me again, and then to be true to it.

Should we tell each other more often that we’re beautiful? I don’t know. I realize that I tell other women all the time that I think they’re gorgeous, or I like their hair, or in a myriad of other ways I compliment their physical beauty. Not so much with men. Maybe that stems from being married for so long and trying to avoid giving people the wrong impression. But even when I was single before, I never paid physical compliments to men. So the other day I took a stab and told a guy something I liked about his physical appearance. He seemed appreciative, but I don’t know. I don’t know if men need that; I’ve never been a man and don’t aspire to be one. But I’m trying to understand it. Do men have just as many insecurities about their physical appearance as women do, and if so, how do we help people feel better about who they are? Because I know so many very attractive men (heh heh), so many very attractive women, that just need to continue being themselves. It’s who you are that really makes you beautiful.

There are way too many questions here (14, to be exact) and not any answers. I guess that doesn’t matter because I’m a question kind of gal.

Mothers Day

Mothers day is complicated and messy for many people I know. There are the obvious mothers day haters—the childless, who seethe at the thought that other women could bear offspring and they couldn’t. There are the understandable dislikers—the people whose mothers have passed away or who were never present in their lives, and therefore the day causes unnecessary painful memories. There are the less evident yet equally as stressed-out—the divorced fathers who struggle with balancing the need to thank the mother of their children for the things she does/did with the need to make sure she doesn’t get some crazy idea that he wants to get back together with her. And then there are people like me, who just don’t get what the big deal is and are generally annoyed when people create a lot of hype over it.

I have observed otherwise likeable, rational women become complete idiotic morons over the topic of mothers day. Let me share some examples of irrationality:

Exhibit A: Woman feels she is “entitled” to special treatment and guilts her family into said treatment on mothers day because she spent nine months bearing said child and eighteen plus years raising him/her. I’m sorry, but wasn’t that the choice you made when you decided to have unprotected sex?

Exhibit B: Childless woman feels angry and hurt because the leader of the church congregation announced that they’d now like “all the mothers” to stand so they can pass out flowers to them. Did you really expect that you should be included, too? The day is called “mothers day,” for heavens sake, and you don’t carry that title. Deal.

Exhibit C: Woman complains that last year they gave us a box of chocolates but this year they only gave us a lousy rose. Wow. Just, Wow. Did I already mention how mothers day brings out the worst, the most selfish, in people?

Exhibit D: Children are taught that they can’t be mean to someone because “she’s somebody’s mother.” So…following that logic…it’s okay to be mean to anyone who isn’t a mother? I'm sure that wasn't really the intended message. Misuse of the mother title.

Based on these examples, you might erroneously think I’m one of those angry people. I’m not angry about mothers day, I just don’t get it. Plenty of people have tried to help me understand, and well-meaning (albeit annoying) individuals have told me that I’ll get it when I’m a mother, someday. I honestly hope that isn’t true (the part about me “getting” it, not the part about being a mother someday). I sincerely believe that motherhood must be great, must be something to look forward to, must be respected, and must be advocated. Just like I sincerely believe it doesn’t demand a fabricated day of celebration, nor a guilt trip toward people you actually love, nor selfishness, nor anger just because you can’t seem to achieve it.

I also believe that it isn’t quite right to tell women, “You’re all mothers in your own way” because that cheapens the value of actually, truly, raising children. I do believe you can be a mother without conceiving and giving birth—I have seen too many successful adoptive families to have any doubt about that. But there’s something particular about raising children that should be exclusive to that title, Mother. I don’t want anyone to call me a mother at this point in my life; it would be…disrespectful (not to mention terrifying). Again, though, this leads me back to the irrationality surrounding the concept of mothers day. Otherwise normal women get out of control (I will not extract myself from that claim).

Let’s respect and appreciate our mothers any day of the year they deserve it. Let’s crusade for less hype in our church communities. Let’s offer gratitude to all the people who have supported us through our lives, regardless of title or gender. Start with the people who helped you through the last week: send them a text, give them a call, share a song with them. I bet that list of people contains way more than just your mother. Appreciating the relationships in our lives: now there’s a reason for a special day.

To sum up the complicated and messy emotions surrounding mothers day, I’m sharing this playlist: a mix of anger, gratitude, reality, smacks in the face, and love. You can access the whole playlist on Spotify:

Mama by My Chemical Romance

Mama Said by The Shirelles

Fancy by Reba McEntire

Motherhood from Hello Dolly soundtrack

Evacuee by Enya

Boots by The Killers

Some Nights by Fun.

Mothers of the Disappeared by U2

Sorry, Blame It On Me by Akon

Stacy’s Mom by Fountains of Wayne

I Got It From My Mama by will.i.am

New Born by MUSE

Wild Montana Skies by John Denver

Pain in the Butt

No, literally. Sciatic pain. In a BIG way. For the past 7 years, about every 6-8 months I wake up with stupid, crippling pain in my lower back and down the back of my right leg. It usually goes away after a few days so I just hobble around, down handfuls of ibuprofen, and occasionally seek chiropractic care to make it feel better faster. But today is…different. I can’t hardly move out of bed, I can’t stand, I can’t walk, and yet being Heidi, I can’t sit still.

In my pain I was forced to change my plans. I had to ignore all the work I was supposed to do today. I had to cancel plans with friends. I had to stop and do nothing. Well, not nothing: I’m supposed to apply ice, apply heat, stretch, and rest.

One of the great things I did was admit that I had to let my work sit for a while. I’m already terribly behind, so what’s another day? Truthfully, though, being able to admit that the world can go on without me is HUGE. I don’t think I have that big of an ego, but occasionally I let things get disproportionate and I behave like I’m indispensable. I’m not.

Cancelling plans with friends was disappointing because I was really looking forward to kayaking and visiting the Aquarium this weekend. But the beauty of friendships is that they endure things like back pain. The ocean will still be there to explore another day, too, whether by kayak or by reaching out to its misunderstood cartilaginous inhabitants.

Another thing this pain forced me to forego is a date opportunity (or whatever it’s called these days – I still haven’t figured out the terminology, so he’d probably call it something different) – just someone who finally reciprocated in the right way…but when I was lying flat on my back and couldn't do anything about it!

So tonight I’ve got a date with myself, catching up with my DVR before I return it next week and cancel my cable. And I remembered, I make a pretty good date. With the help of the Domino's app, hot gluten free pizza was delivered right to where I am sprawled on my living room floor. Microwave popcorn drizzled with doce de leite is a killer movie snack.

And thus I am kicking this pain in the butt, in the butt.

Killer Music

Last night I had an awesome experience on the floor at the Killers concert at the LA Sports Arena—the concert experience is always better on the floor. As I prepped for the concert, listening to setlists from previous shows, a dawning of acceptance hit me: that my past, present, and future are summed up nicely in the Killers’ discography!

My husband died. Seven months ago. He was the original Killers fan in our family; it didn’t take much to convert me. So, clearly, the Killers own that part of my past. They also did a bang-up job of describing a few of my long-lost-love scenarios. As I go through the grieving process, their music is interwoven with the threads I’m trying to stitch together and build a new life out of. Hence, the present. And then there are those parts of my future I dream about (in some cases, have dreamt about, for a while) which are hinted about in various Killers songs. Will they come to fruition? Only time (and a few more songs) will tell…

Miss Atomic Bomb

“I was new in town, the boy with the eager eyes

I never was a quitter, oblivious to schoolgirls' lies”

Past. Everyone needs a delicious little eager admirer (or two) in their past. ;) Don’t know how Atomic I’ve been, though. Maybe that part belongs to the future, yet.

 

I invite you to share my live Miss Atomic Bomb experience with me:

Here With Me

“Don’t want your picture on my cell phone – I want you here with me
Don't need those memories in my head, no  – I want you here with me"

Present. Of course there’s the obvious connection to the deceased husband. There are other people in my present who are probably temporary passers-through, but to whom I’m drawn because of what they’ve brought me at this strange time of life. I’m very open to new life experiences right now and I want to connect with as many people who can help me feel and experience as many things as possible. In my earlier adult life (hell, my whole life, really), I was pretty closed off to new people, new things, new experiences. Something has been opening up inside me, gradually, over the past few years but then the chasm has split wide open in the past few months and I want to let in the whole world.

Be Still

“Don't break character
You've got a lot of heart
Is this real or just a dream?
Rise up like the sun
Labor till the work is done”

Present. I’ve been given a rare opportunity to embrace life in a whole new way, at a time when I’m still young enough to do it differently. I feel a lot of pressure to reinvent myself as a single person; some days I’m thrilled with that prospect, and other days it just plain makes me mad. I wonder why so many people seem to care what I’ll do next. What if I never do anything different than I did it last week, or last month, or last year? Does that make me a lazy and awful person? At the same time, I know that I have been given great light, understanding, talent, and reasoning capability. God doesn’t expect me to waste that when there’s an opportunity to grow it all even greater.

Somebody Told Me

“Somebody told me you had a boyfriend who looked like a girlfriend that I had in February of last year”

Future. In college my brother had a roommate with the most incredible, sexy, long, wavy hair. I want to find that man (or find that hair on a comparable man) and make him mine. At least for a little while.

A Dustland Fairytale

“Change came in disguise of revelation, set his soul on fire

She says she always knew he'd come around

And the decades disappear like sinking ships

But we persevere, God gives us hope

But we still fear what we don't know”

Past and Future. When I was 19 I hatched up this little story—the plot of a novel, really—that was based around some imaginary future I envisioned for myself. 21 years into that future, I am surprised to say that several key components of that story have actually come to pass. So…perhaps I was writing the beginning of my first great novel, or perhaps I was writing my own destiny.

I invite you to share my live Dustland Fairytale experience with me:

Running to Stand Still

Aside from the fact that I’m a lover of U2’s heroin/suicide song, I selected this title to fit my new…hobby(?), running.

I’m not a runner. Let me just get that out of the way. But recently I started running in an attempt to improve my endurance for my real passion, hiking. I’ve been hiking a lot more lately and am preparing to hike Yosemite’s Half Dome in August (16 miles round trip, about a 12-hour day). So as I hike longer and more challenging trails, I realize that I need to increase my endurance so I don’t, basically, die on the way up to Half Dome. But this post isn’t about hiking. It’s about running.

In a way, my decision to start running was actually a lot like the opening lyrics of the song:

And so she woke up

Woke up from where she was lying still

Said, "I gotta do something

About where I'm going"

I knew that I couldn’t keep being all talk about my love of hiking and my attempt to try harder and more challenging trails if I didn’t get my body in better condition. If I was going to be able to breathe deeper, hike longer, and carry a heavier load of water (cuz I drink way too much), I had to kick my conditioning in the rear end.

So far the running attempt is going well. And so far I’m actually enjoying it. What I get most from it (besides a good sweat) is time to let my brain focus on nothing while I struggle for breath and try hard not to look at the timer on my phone.

I hate wasting time. I always have. And so this is one of the few times when I feel like it’s really okay to waste time because I’m actually being productive by exercising my body. But my brain is actively doing nothing, which is amazingly relaxing. In essence, I’m running to stand still.