Where Did That Inner Compass Go?

My preoccupation with my appearance in this life waxes and wanes.  It waxed to sheer heights of foolishness in high school.  Recently, it waned to the point where I have actually been known for a hairstyle of braids and a bandana (and that would be dirty hair, though I don't think that part was known) The words "um, are you going out like that, honey?"  have been uttered to me past age 30. I have dropped the need to wear make-up upon crossing my doorstep, even though I probably actually could use some more than ever.  

But more recently, I've been getting sucked in again.  I've colored my hair.  I've been spending too much time worrying about what I'm wearing and been too discontent about my wardrobe. I've spent against my principles. I've even been treading in perilous waters of wondering if I need to shed some pounds.  I expressed to some friends this morning about being concerned that I was failing to model a good example to my almost teen daughter about how she need not conform to culturally imposed beauty ideals.  And then I searched for a scarf to cover up the hole I discovered in the shirt I had been wearing, slapped on mascara, a good pair of jeans, shoes, etc.

We were meeting friends at the library this morning, so I felt that maybe I shouldn't show up, you know, Tiffany Granola.  It is a pretty day, so we decided to walk over to the park (we were in the Village, of course).  There is a great creek in the back of this park, and of course the kids wanted to go down along that path.  Then on the rocks in the creek.  Then in the creek.  It was my Anna who "accidentally" got her feet wet first, shoes, socks, sweatpants and all.  

I resisted the urge to groan.  I looked at what I was wearing and felt ridiculous.  What I really wanted to do?  Get down in that water with her.  Because that's who I really am.  I am usually dressed for adventure, not to impress.  I wanted to splash around with the kids and throw rocks and hike up the creek.  I am not the stand on the side looking pretty type.  

The point is that I should embrace my life. What I am. I am a Mom. I show up in rundown refugee apartments in rough parts of town. My husband has not one iota of fashion sense and told me all along he never thought I needed to color my hair anyway, and tells me that my attractiveness lies not in my appearance.  But I have convinced myself he is lying.  

My good, good friend Tashmica wrote a beautiful post on her blog entitled "The Goddess"

http://mother-flippin.blogspot.com/2010/04/goddess.html?utm_source=feedburner&utm_medium=feed&utm_campaign=Feed%3A+MotherFlippin+%28MOTHER+FLIPPIN%27%29

 When I read it, I wanted to cry.  I wanted to be able to say that I felt that way too. But since reading that post, I've been thinking that the reason I don't is because I've lost my way.

But I'm not a lost high schooler anymore.  I am a friend of dear friends.  I am a beloved wife of a wonderful husband.  I am the mama of two uniquely lovely girls.  

A brand new friend sent me an e-mail today about peace.  In quietness and peace, direction is found.  Not in listening to distractions.  Not in shouldering burdens I am not intended to carry.

So I'm letting this one go.  And I'm getting in those old creek-wading pants.