This week Write On Edge asked me
to write about a time I found myself my comparing self, unfavorably, with
someone else, to focus on the emotions involved and the outcome of your
comparison, using 400 words.
When I was in my twenties, I dug
deep into the depths of my cedar chest, just like every girl of my generation
had. My daughter laughed when I explained why it was called a “hope” chest, “Young
girls were expected to make and gather items that we would hope to use in our
new home when we got married.”
We unpacked dozens of embroidered
pillowcases and table linens that my mother and grandmother had forced me
stitch. I pulled out my wedding veil and honeymoon dress and coat neatly
folded on top of the many boxes of photographs. Underneath the last box I
turned over a cheap reprint of Norman Rockwell’s “Girl at the Mirror.” At that
moment I felt the air punched out of me; it so symbolized my self-reflection of
how I felt when younger.
I grew up in a small town where
girls were given the conflicting, unrealistic role movie and TV models of
either sexual Marilyn Monroe or bikini-clad Goldie Hawn. Thus, putting my
awkward 14 year-old-ego in conflict with the “always perfect hair and makeup
movie stars” that I idolized.
Running around the hills of
Oklahoma I was a tomboy who didn’t even wear makeup or know the reality of
Hollywood. I just wanted to be admired and loved, confident and posed. So I
would gaze into the magazine pictures then search the mirror for any signs of
change in my looks or confidence.
Each time I would be pulled away
from all that wishing and dreaming to do my chores or school work, I would say
to myself, “I bet Jane Russell never had to feed the pigs and calves.” Or “I
bet Judy Garland or Petula Clark never had a bad hair day when they were
singing.” Finally I became too busy with my friends, who admired me, my
sweetheart who loved me, and my career which gave me confidence that I forgot
the “Girl at the Mirror.”
But the Rockwell print brought
back all my insecurities of adolescence. That was what I thought I hoped to be,
and I had packed away my wishes and dreams deep in my hope chest when I started
to become the real me.
(P.S.
I’m still working on the poise.)
I love all of the beautiful imagery that you shared here. I can actually see you on the Oklahoma plains growing up and I can picture the hope chest and all that was inside of it so vividly.
ReplyDeleteLovely!
Great to "meet" you through Write on the Edge!
Thanks for the kind words. It is nice to "meet" you as well. Write on Edge is a great forum for thinking, writing and responding.
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