non-sequitor: I am waiting with baited breath for my camera’s connector cord to come in the mail. I don’t think I can handle PhotoBooth creativity too much longer. project 365 will be much easier once I can use an actual camera!
but now, on to what I really have been mulling over for a day or two. it all started with this post on a blog I follow. I think it brings up some great points. what do we insinuate when we scoff that a tall, leggy model (or actress or fitness instructor or the lady at the grocery store) isn’t a “real” woman? what’s the alternative? is she, then, a fake woman?
a painful truth in recovery for me was that I will never, while in good health, be waif-thin. although I am petite, I am not naturally sinewy and willowy; in my natural, unadultered state, I’m actually built more like a boxer than a ballerina. I’m compact, I’m muscular, and whether I like it or not I’m gonna have an ass. and that’s just the way I am.
just like some women, love them or hate them, are just naturally, simply thin. does that make them any less “real” than me? nope. just makes them thinner.
as I was thinking about this and listening to pandora, an ad came on about a new television series, Life Unexpected (about a teenage girl who finds and goes to live with her biological parents, who gave her up at birth). and the ad said something about her “going to live with her real parents.” and I became so infuriated, it actually took me by surprise.
I have never thought of my adoptive parents as anything but…my parents. not my second set of parents, not my adoptive parents (although I used that term just now for distinction), and certainly not my fake parents. and on the flipside, my birth parents are…well, my birth parents. nothing more, nothing less. it would never in a million years occur to me to refer to them as my “real” parents. because again, by default that would make my mom and dad, who raised me from the time I was three months old and who are just overflowing with love for me, my “fake” parents, my “unreal” parents.
and what about this silly phrase that gets thrown around more and more as commencement approaches: “the real world.” I understand that the college life is something only experienced when one is in college. but my life here is not less-than real. I get up at 520 every morning and am sometimes going full speed ahead until almost eleven at night, between getting to the gym/yoga, classes, practicing, teaching, rehearsals, and RA things. trust me–it’s real.
I just found out there’s no such thing as the real world,
just a lie you’ve gotta rise above.
so? should I aspire to be a “real” woman? what the hell does that mean? I’m (getting) healthy and strong and I’m the right size for me. can’t that just be enough?
I have, for all intents and purposes, two sets of parents: the ones who conceived me and had the good sense to know that they couldn’t raise me under their current circumstances, and the ones who have been my world since I was three months old. is one set “real” and the other not? if so, which is which? according to the CW, the pair that I share genetic material with is my “real” set. the people whom I have never met and probably never will.
and this “real” world nonsense. my world is real, thank you kindly. if my world was frolicking in the fields making dandelion crowns and chasing bunnies, ya know what? that would be real too. it’s all about perception. being a music student and a resident assistant with a mild obsession with yoga and a love for running and french music and peanut butter may not be a “real” world to some people…but it’s my world, I like it very much, and I’m sticking with it.