Giving Up The Search

It’s been a while since I’ve given something up and I’ve been thinking about what to do next.

Let’s be frank. Friends and family alike have been practically begging for me to give up the search. The search for the one.

I’ve been on several dates (yes, single dates) this past year, most of which have lead to fantastic experiences and interesting adventures. I don’t regret a single one, however, when having enough girl talk with enough girl friends, a woman starts to not only see her own patterns but also have them spoken to her. At first in soft sweet tones of encouragement, and later in volumes and statements that act like a club to the head.

Stubborn person that I am, I have held tooth and nail to the idea of continuing my hunt for love. After all, it’s said in the Daniel Johnston song, “True Love Will Find You in the End,” that “only if you’re looking will it find you.” So how the hell am I supposed to find love if I’m not looking?

My mindset has been this: Every time I've not been looking, I have not found anyone and no one has found me—with the exception of the one time I resolved to stop looking, and a week later the love bug found and bit me hard. A quick but intense reaction, I’d be lying if I said there were not traces of the venom still running through my veins. Almost there, though. Almost gone.

None-the-less I am giving up dating for six months. Period. Doesn’t matter what comes up. And here’s why:

I caught myself explaining that to take six months off of dating would be such a waste of time.

Such a waste of time?

It hit me that what I was saying was ridiculously sad and indicative of my own sense of self-worth. It is not possible to waste time while investing it in one’s personal growth. How depressing that I should think I am not worthy of my own time.

I’ve given it thought and I’ve realized that I set the adult female sex into two categories—girls and women.  The only difference that seems to be present to me in these two categories is a seemingly rock-solid confidence in herself. I can express this also in a balance between giving fucks and not giving any.

I am a girl. I give far too many fucks. My confidence can crumble with an hour of not returned text messages—and not just from men—from women friends as well, because I have felt for too long that my worth is determined by others and how much I impress or interest them. Screw that.

It is a weird place to be when you know deep down that you are awesome, that you have talent, that you are intelligent and beautiful, and yet when it comes down to it, when asked to sell yourself, you don’t feel you’re a worthy product to showcase or buy.

What is that? Shouldn't impressing myself be the priority?

And so, here I go, reluctantly, but with purpose, to embrace the single life.

Whee.

Skin Deep: Making Nu(de) Friends

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Where the Sun Don't Shine: On Going Bottomless

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What to Wear When Going Bare

Who would have thought that a conversation about my giving up social media for thirty days would lead to my standing in front of a mirror deciding what to wear the day I gave up clothing?

“I’m not a nudist, really”, I explained to a very intelligent friend of mine, “but it would be interesting, I think, to see what that is like to learn to do things without the distraction of clothing”.

Two months later, I remembered her mentioning a naked bike ride through Los Angeles. I looked it up online, discovered it was 7 days away, registered, and decided to attend.

I had no idea that the event would be such an eye-opening experience that would remind me of my authentic self, and would leave such an impact on my life. Nor did I anticipate how much more difficult it would be to decide what to wear on a nude bike ride.

There I sat in front of my mirror with a headdress that I bought years ago at the Renaissance Faire, flesh colored lacey boy short panties, and…leopard print ballet flats? No. Sienna brown leather sandals? No. Rubber flip-flops? Absolutely not!

Enter my (very honest) mother saying enthusiastically, “You look like you’re going to the Gay Pride Parade!”

Not what I wanted to hear!

Not that I have anything against the gay pride parade. But truthfully, that whole endeavor can be a bit—well—fabulous. I wasn’t going for that. But I guess I didn’t really know WHAT I was going for.

The thing about a naked bike ride is that there is no standard of fashion. I mean, clothed rides call for a few different looks depending on your bike and the type of ride. Beach cruiser? Cuteness counts. Mountain bike? Better look sporty. Yadda yadda. But something called World Naked Bike Ride Los Angeles (WNBR)? It seems so easy, right? But for some reason, shoes with nothing else feels really, really strange.

It was in this darkest moment, when I wanted to say “screw it, I’m not going”, that the words of a really cool dude came to mind. “Panties. Boobies out. Chuck Taylors”.

I didn’t own Chucks, but I had purchased several pairs of panties at Fredericks of Hollywood specifically for this event. And the guy was onto something. In my daily life I am a bit of a minimalist. Give me a solid print t-shirt, jeans that fit me well, cute shoes and a bag to match and I’m set. I’m not much for jewelry or hipster head bands. Pretty much just the basics make me smile. Strip me down of the outer shell on a regular bike ride and what will you find on me? Neutral-colored panties, a closed-toed shoe, a baseball cap, pig-tails, and my camelback pack. So that’s what I went with. 

I felt so much more…me!

After that struggle, it was all down hill. I contemplated taking advantage of the free body paint, but the purpose of this ride, for me, quickly became to be confident in my body just as it is. I am not really a big fan of my nipples, though I’ve been told they are nice on enough occasions. My belly is not L.A. standard flat. I have no thigh gap. I quickly decided against the body paint solely because I wanted to be able to say I really conquered a fear—the fear of my body being ridiculed and rejected by strange men and women I do not know. I wanted to show it all—especially the parts I was scared to show. And all body paint would do is help me mask my insecurities.

The next decision was to either wear the panties, or take them off. The good thing about this is that panties are easily removed or replaced. So what did I do? Well that’s another tale for another entry.

The bottom (haha) line of this story is that I never realized how much I look to society for approval of what I am wearing. The challenge in finding the right lack of an outfit to wear to WNBR was rather eye-opening in that regard. When a standard (or non-standard) way of dressing is removed, we are stripped away with little more than our skin, our face, our words to tell our stories. And that is frightening at first, I think, to see that reflected in the mirror. Really, it is a frightening thought period, that cloth could help to define the much larger material of what we are—individuals.

++NOTE++ if you should happen to not be body squeamish, and enjoy the human form, I'm working on building positive body image by baring my imperfect body to the world on Tumblr. Have a visit! zpoeticartz.tumblr.com

Making Up With Makeup

It felt like Christmas Day. I woke bright-eyed and bushy tailed and sprung from my bed like a Pop-Tart from a toaster in a 1990s commercial. But it wasn't Christmas, it was the 31st of May, and I had just gone 30 days without makeup.

I have said in a previous entry that what i feel I have missed most about putting makeup on in the mornings is the time that I spend with myself while looking in the mirror, complimenting myself. This is precisely what I was looking forward to on the 31st.

I smiled at myself in excitement as I spread the foundation across my face, covering the redness of the creases of my nose, the darker circles beneath my deep-set eyes. I grinned as I gave my usually pale cheeks some blush and put numerous coats of mascara onto my lashes. And when i was done I felt a little embarrassed. My usual look felt so dramatic! I felt more different-looking than I expected I would. I wasn't opposed to this, rather more surprised by it.

In reflection of my month without makeup, this adventure ended up being more profound than I expected. 

I think the largest realization has been that I have been placing so much value on appearance that I've forgotten the value of actually being present.

In the past I've arrived 30-60 minutes late to work thinking it was more important to look  good as the receptionist than it was to be there. Silly concept but it was my thought. 

I've become attached to the thinking that, as a single girl, it is important to look my best at all times in order to attract a man. Instead of being present in the moment, I've been inside my head wondering if I'm going to run into Mr. Right while grocery shopping and if I'm put together enough to draw his attention from his eggs to my face. I've been so concerned about appearances that I wouldn't have noticed I was being admired at all. And I wasn't even aware of this. 

So, here I am, having permitted myself to wear make up for three days. I've worn make up only one of them. 

Here are a few fun things to look at after 30 days of being broken up with make up now that we've been back together for three days:

-I look at myself in the mirror and in storefront windows far more often when wearing makeup than when not. I'm not sure how I feel about this just yet. There is a difference between confidence and vanity. I'll watch this the next few weeks.

-I think makeup served as a barrier between dirt and my face. I got more zits not wearing make up than I have while wearing it.

-A benefit of no makeup? When you face palm or have a hair tickle your face, you don't have to worry about makeup rubbing off and getting under your nails, and onto the surface of white things.

-I did not miss waking up with raccoon eyes due to mascara rubbing off in the night.

So that is all. I have now decided that June is a good month for giving up laziness. More on that later today.

A Date With My Mirror: Make-Up Tomorrow!

Day 30 is today and although I have said before that it's make-up-free May, I fully intend to wear make-up tomorrow. I am psyched this month has come to an end.

It isn't that I am insecure in my skin. Rather the opposite. I am confident in it but also am interested in accentuating the best parts of my face.

This month I have come to appreciate my naturally good and clear skin. I have come to appreciate the mauve that kisses and lines my eyelids. I have come to realize that despite the role my makeup plays in evening my skin tone, naturally it is pretty good on it's own.

And I have come to realize that I did cling to make up a bit too much for confidence previous to this month. For example in the past I have been significantly late to work thinking I had to "look perfect" with awesome hair and make up. After this month I will just skip the make-up if ever I am running late for work or classes. No problem.

But the truth is that I enjoy the art of painting my face every morning, even if I paint the same thing. I wondered if perhaps I would find that I was hiding behind my makeup, and in the beginning I saw that this was true to an extent. But upon further reflection I have come to realize that my putting my face on in the morning also is a way for me to appreciate myself. Pulling mascara over my long lashes, I feel lucky to have been asked numerous times in the past if they were real. Shadowing my eyes, I really appreciate the flecks of gold and green in the pools of brown of my "big doe eyes". Really, I compliment my natural beauty in the mornings as I accentuate it. I spend time with myself in the mirror.  And this is what I think I have missed the most about makeup this past month

I'm really excited to spend time with myself in the mirror tomorrow morning.

No idea what I'm giving up for June! Who has ideas?

A Side-Trip to Giving Up

Today, we are taking a little side trip off the road Au Naturel.

There is not really anything new that has developed from my experience this past week or so, save for noticing that I get the tiniest zits in different places than I do when wearing makeup.

I also braved an outing with some friends and acquaintances despite my fear that a somewhat harsh and critical one in the group would say something. Contrary to my expectation, not a word was said. I’m not sure when I’m going to get used to the fact that people for the most part, really just don’t give a sh*t about what I wear on my face.

Today I wanted to talk a little bit about something that is perhaps one of the hardest to give up on: the idea of who a certain person is.

It has taken 28 years to come to realize that I fall in love with the best of people straight off the bat and I hold to that best tightly. When the rope starts to slip and people let me down showing their true character, that best remains the thread that I cling to, and cling to, and cling to, and so on, until I have been dragged through miles of mud that I could have avoided if I had just let go at the moment when I knew I’d completely lost that inner tug-of-war.

Months ago, when I began this adventure in blogging things I wanted to give up, the giving-up people idea was the first that my soul whispered to me. She said, “it is time” and I ran from her breath on the lobes of my ears like I run from the winds of change.

“Not yet”, I said in February. “Not yet”, I said in March. “I’ll do that maybe in November”, I said all throughout April. And then this month, just a few short nights ago, I sat bare-faced on the couch of the idea of someone I have clung to for—fuck, it’s embarrassing to reveal the time frame of this!—two years. I removed the cloak I had given him and saw him for who he is. Naked face to a naked vision of this person without my ideas thrown around his shoulders.

But what do I do with an intricately woven cloak that I have custom-made for a person when I have come to realize that it is mostly the cloak I have loved and not the body of the soul beneath it? It is difficult to look at that beautiful piece of work I have created and not be amazed by the amount of talent I have in self-deception.

It is also hard to accept that some of the badges that I placed onto that cloak really are traits that the person does naturally possess. I don’t want to burn those; I do want to burn all the false hopes, the false traits that I know I can no longer embrace.

For now that cloak is folded up and placed within a mental frame and hung on the walls of my heart so that I remember to not do this again. Instead of creating a deceptive garment for someone else, next time I start to fall for a being, I want it to be for the soul they actually are. Next time, I don’t want to pin them with un-earned badges.

So it turns out that this month I gave up more than a little of my vanity, but my imaginary version of a person. The latter being far more significant.

In doing this, I have experienced the strangest of phenomena. My mind wants to find sadness in this. It wants to say “this has been difficult”, “this is all such shocking and new information”. But the reality is that the difficulty has been in realizing that no one fools me better than myself, and not at all in the learning of the actual fact that this person is not who I wanted him to be. I knew it all along. The minute the first heart string was plucked—that inner tug-of-war jerk let me know “this is one you’ll lose”. But I wanted to play. I wanted to get dirty. I tricked myself into thinking my opponent was more suitable for a mere chance at victory—a daydream.

My mind wants to be disappointed, but really in the end I can only be impressed by the power that we possess to make our lives what we wish so long as we focus on creating and defining our selves rather than attempting to create or define others. 

I thought it would feel heavy to let this all go, but in reality I feel light, unbound, and free. Just like my still un-covered face.