I spent this past weekend in the mountains at a women's conference where I was encouraged to ignore the squeeze that accompanies forcing ourselves to fit into society's molds: beauty, sex appeal, home decor, career, recreational pursuits, fashion. Margot Starbuck Hausmann suggested that we completely disregard the molds in favor of embracing the freedom of being beloved daughters of God. Perhaps I have taken her message to heart a little too literally - then again, maybe she just gave me the butt-kicking-into-gear I needed; either way, I have since dispensed with half my normal makeup, opting for the [almost] bare essentials: concealer and mascara. I have also decided to go with glasses permanently, liberating myself from the itchy, eye-watery, squinty look that accompanied my weighted contacts. Both of these actions are ones that have been in mind for a while, but little miss indecisive here needed someone else to affirm these moves before I had the gumption to follow through. Time to break the need to please others mold, eh?
One mold I can't seem to break is that of retail therapy. In most areas (shoes, jewelry, handbags, sweaters) this is no longer a serious problem, but when it comes to books...let's just say the tingly feeling I get walking in a bookstore is reminiscent of sugar-fueled, Agatha Christie mystery Barbie doll reenactment, homemade Ouija board, all-nighter sleepovers from middle school days. I simply cannot stop. As of today, I have 84 books that I already own tagged TBR. Can we say addiction? If it were a case of being fearful of not having anything to read, then I could be the founding member of a local A[bibliophobi]A support group. Alas, my desire - need? - for books runs deeper than that, though I know not to where. All I know is that while I embrace the new and improved glasses modeling, minimalist makeup me, a book (or two or three...) won't be far out of hand.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment