The streak lives. It’s definitely a thing now, officially, since I’ve followed up. The struggle might be real if this was hard but so far it’s not. The celebration of 28 Days of Selfies comes forth struggle-free. Double exposures are still one of the guilt-free pleasures of my struggle-free streak, as you can tell. I’m not sorry.
I’m also not sorry for the pet hair visible on the yoga pants.
While I’m being unapologetic let me also say in advance that I’m not sorry January has been a really good month for me. I worked damn hard to make it a good month. And I rocked it. I kept a working list of my success; a highlight reel, if you will. Not sorry for that. Not at all. I’m not sorry that I’m proud of it and not sorry that it matters so much. I might even publish that highlight reel as a gesture of celebration and gratitude. Let’s go ahead and agree that I won’t be sorry for that either.
I’m not sorry that along with the ever-growing list of things I have eschewed over the years, I’ve added a few more this month:
- high heels–never again. I find them abusive and they imply that there is something wrong with the shape of my legs, feet, ass, and my walk. They were created to modify female behavior, movement, and appearance. I’m done with that.
- along the same lines as restrictive shoes is restrictive clothing of any kind but especially body-shaping undergarments. I say no to Spanx. Make that a Hell No.
- the notion that I have physical flaws; nope! These are not flaws. These are defining characteristics. I come by them naturally, which means everything on my body and of my body is by design. I’m supposed to look this way. I’m also supposed to age this way. How liberating, no? I get to relax and just love me.
- releasing the need to restrict, modify, or correct my body eases the transition into releasing the need to restrict, modify, or correct with religious or spiritual practices as well. If there is nothing wrong with my natural body, there is nothing wrong with my spirit or my soul either. Once again, I function the way I’m designed; the way I’m supposed to feel, to grow, to learn, without crippling restrictions and predetermined failings of character.
I’m not sorry for any behavior that is (mis)interpreted as attention-seeking, including self-portraits and entire blog posts dedicated to them. I’m not sorry that I told my book club that I’m brilliant. I didn’t suggest it. I said it. I’m not sorry that some members agreed. I’m not sorry that I still laugh so loud. I’m not sorry that I want to spend my money on experiences instead of new clothes. I’m not sorry that I think there should be a separate Pinterest for weddings, fashion, and food. I’m not sorry that in the winter I’d rather run at 11 am than 6 am. I’m not sorry that I’m so stingy with my Friday nights. I’m not sorry that men under the age of 35 no longer look attractive to me.
I’m not sorry that I no longer have any interest in anything related to Disney. I’m not sorry that I’ve gotten bored with Star Wars and Harry Potter. I’m not sorry that I will not commiserate with every daily tragedy on Facebook. I’m not sorry that I won’t let it go when people use the word rape in a casual context. I’m not sorry that I’m having so much fun in spite of being hopelessly out of touch with the latest trends in well, everything. I’m not sorry that I had to ask a friend to explain burpees to me. I’m really, truly not sorry that I’ve enjoyed Shonda Rhimes’s book yet I’ve never seen a single episode of Grey’s Anatomy (or any other show she’s produced).
Yesterday at work I laughed so hard at something I drooled on my right boob. In front of people. In front of colleagues. Who has two thumbs and isn’t f-ing sorry? This chick.
The next time I’m forced to attend some stupid meeting with mandatory stick-on name tags I’m going to write Not Sorry on mine. Yes, my friends, this is wellness.
Yes it is.