I am of a certain age that I read about in my younger days when I lived with the illusion of immortality. It's the age where the outside perception of beauty starts to fade just when life's experience makes me not care as much. It takes effort on my part to be a size medium. With a professional photo shoot recently scheduled next month at the insisting of a new friend, I've had two other offers within the same day by other photographers.
What most don't realize is that I have always been very insecure about my face, body and thoughts. While I refuse to be placated, I can accept an authentic compliment. I've been told in various ways that I have some demons that I deal with and that my only struggles are internal. I accept that about myself as part of my DNA, just like the mole under my lip and with no judgment. I own it with the paunch of my belly that comes with chips and goes with crunches. I love Pacific Coast Highway and myself for all of our elements and curves.
There are things in my life that cry out for attention; mail from yesterday, the backs of my arms. They shook me awake this morning, urging me to pray and I did. I sip coffee on my balcony, watching the flashing pink neon lights of the carousel on the Santa Monica Pier fade under the overcast dawn sky. In an hour the quiet will be disrupted by my youngest daughter rising to surf and my kitchen will smell like oatmeal that she never eats.
Life's opportunities arrive disguised as challenges as I check my email. Prayer works.