So much of my life seems to be a struggle against the status quo. I don’t care about the trappings of a big house (who’s going to clean it?), fancy car (horrible gas mileage and upkeep expense) and designer clothes. I don’t wear make up, color or perm my hair, or get manicures. Simple, natural, real – why does society hate that concept so much?
I want to read, learn, explore the world, share with the global community and love my family. No jet-setting, big social events, obsession over bank accounts or paranoia over identity theft. The latest Homeland Security terror alert is more bother than help, and I really don’t need to hear it. This life is terminal; get used to it.
All the fuss about carbs and fats and personal trainers – what a waste of time and energy. Walk a few blocks; don’t eat that double Big Mac, and stop fretting about what size jeans you can squeeze into. No, I’m not pencil-thin marathoner. I’m 46, 5’9”, 180 pounds, and I’ve worn a size 14 since high school. I’ve given birth to two great kids, and my body shape will never be what it was 25 years ago. I hate to exercise and sweat, but I do like to walk – outside, not on a treadmill in a smelly gym – and enjoy nature. Will I die a few months sooner than someone who obsesses over diets and Pilates? I doubt it, but if I do, I’ll bet my years will be more contented.