Day 15 - My Perfect Imperfections

Last night we piled into the local movie theater to see the new movie, The Fighter. Christian Bale should no doubt get an Oscar for his portrayal of a crack addict and Mark Wahlberg's acting is the best I have ever seen from him; vulnerable and strong as Boston boxer Micky Ward. Yet oddly enough the actor that impacted me the most was Amy Adams. My daughter and I knew this natural red head from the movie, Enchanted and the romantic comedy Leap Year; in both polished and decked out in high heels, picture perfect hair and make up. In The Fighter though she bravely bared an exposed physicality. In her first scene the midriff she was wearing revealed a cute and slightly pudgy stomach as she poured drinks at the local bar. Her fair-skinned complexion was portrayed in a raw and candid manner. I felt as if she was accessible, sitting there right in front of me without any boundaries. She was pure and real.

What was amazing was that she was more attractive without the glam and shine of bubble-gum story lines. She did not have the flawless, airbrushed skin or a smooth and unblemished silhouette. Her body was not like the typical Hollywood starlet - it was unrefined and honest. Yet the bare imperfections created a level of truth that was hard to turn away from; in fact her natural unadulterated beauty was transfixing. As I walked to my car I thought: The more life experience I gain the more elusive the definition of beauty and sex appeal becomes. It is not a clothing or bra size - it can not be defined by the youth or smoothness of the skin - it is never pinned down by weight, BMI or body fat percentage. Beauty is relative to what we value. 

Years ago when I was a teenager living in the bay area I would walk to the local cafe every morning that looked over the water. Sitting at the corner table I would watch the elite-dressed city workers pull up in their Mercedes and BMWs and shuffle in with their briefcases and sickeningly matched gray tone business suits. I was both perplexed and curious about the facade of city living. I wondered one thing: if everyone had an ideal of attractiveness does that mean I should naturally follow suit? If everyone valued Gucci sunglasses, lacrosse athleticism and trendy yoga bodies where did my seasoned and used body fit in (even at the age of 15)?

One day a woman came into the cafe. She was probably in her late 30's with raven black hair that curled slightly at the ends. The New York Times that I was pretending to read for maturity's sake lowered slowly like a curtain revealing a new scene. She was thick with thighs that curved their way out of a short black skirt. Small cellulite dimples emerged as she erotically moved her hips, almost dancing her way across the floor. Her stomach peeked out slightly above the skirt revealing a receptive and soft abdomen, with no specific or familiar tone. I was mesmerized. This woman was so different. She bore her whole being without a qualm and because of this her beauty was unparalleled to anyone in the room. Instead of fighting to squeeze her one-of-a-kind physical flesh into a box, she embraced every square inch of her existence without limitation. And you could tell. Everyone in that room did. She was like Mona Lisa. There was something about her that you could not quite figure out. Whatever it was, though, transformed the observer.

I have had many experiences like the above throughout my life. The most erotic, sexual, radiant and beautiful are also the most unusual, accessible and flawed.

When did we begin to value a certain physical blueprint above another? Why do we try to erase wrinkles, cellulite, curves and stretch marks? Wouldn't it make sense that as we age we gain wisdom and experiences that are displayed on our body that heighten our worth? 

There is a certain comfort that is sourced from striving to be like others and to follow the path of what has already been done (or has already been striven for). It is much more comfortable to bear a watertight bikini body than it is to reveal the candor of our faulty life experience on our skin personified. It may seem easier at first to reject and fight our body than to accept and love it.

Ask yourself, though, one question: what is attractive to you in your everyday life? Is a toned and muscular body synonymous with a life mate? Do double D boobs constitute a woman of motherly and kind affections? Absolutely not. Why judge ourselves on the level of the physical when the physical is just an illusory layer to draw us into the deeper attractions of being?

Every one of us have imperfections that we are insecure about. Yet it is these flaws that are the key to discovering our own mouth-salivating eroticism and energetic appeal. What we reject the most about ourselves is precisely what makes us the most beautiful. 

The stretch marks on my lower stomach are a road map of my journey as a young and excited mother, my slightly deflated breasts impart the knowing that I have given of myself and fed my daughter. Broken blood vessels on the side of my nose from the long sunny days scrubbing my fathers boat and chubby knees and full thighs are evidence of the desire to consume the joy and pleasure of life. My enhanced-surface-area bum is a genetic gift that my mother said is designed for the skills and strength of Irish farming while my small and quiet mouth displays my fear of speaking out, only to unload on paper.

Every mark, scar and misshapen part of us actually creates a new world of alluring possibility.

Take the physical parts of you that you are less than confident about and ask the following questions about it to realize its true contribution:

• What physical function does it serve (legs that carry you, arms that reach out, etc.)?
• What direct enjoyable experiences have you had with it?
• Why does it look different or altered? 
• What have you learned through the use of it?
• What character traits does it inhabit (legs that are strong, thick - belly that is boisterous and open)?

Let us love every single imperfection that we have because they truly are a seamless thread in the canvas of our life experience.

Nat