Food for Thought

Yesterday morning (or actually, a few mornings ago, since I'm woefully late in posting this), I was getting ready for work. Vegas was flopped out on my bed, thwacking his tail optimistically against the sheets, hoping for some morning cuddles before I disappeared from his world for about 9 hours. (Poor pup, I really do feel badly about leaving him for so long). I reached across to grab a hoodie off its hanger, and in the process, my knee knocked a shoebox of photos to the floor.

I mentally cursed, and knelt to pick up the mess when one photo caught my eye.

It was taken about 10 years ago when I lived in Florida. I was in college then (my, how time flies…), and struggling to find a way to still be an actor and singer (my previous life) while being an academic and responsibly earning my degree. (My parentals suggested it was responsible, I had my doubts)

I’d been putting together a small portfolio of pictures to use for promotional purposes on a particular producer’s website. He’s going to remain nameless because he turned out to be a sleazeball, but that’s another blog entry for another day. I was dressed in my favorite black baggy pants, paired with a red tank top I’d strategically tied at my back to expose my stomach. My long, blond hair was in pigtails down my shoulders and I clutched a microphone in my right hand.

“Man,” I thought, “I was silly. And cute! I’d kill for that flat tummy and tiny waist right about now!”

And then I remembered how much I hated how I looked then.

Every morning, I’d go into my bathroom and look down, poking at my “flabby” stomach, and ensuring it hadn’t somehow inched over the edge of my pants since the last I looked. I hated the way the “flab” of my arms flopped around. I hated my skin. I spent more than a passing thought comparing myself to the pretty girls in the tiny bikinis around me, and by comparison, I just couldn’t measure up.

I was so focused on all of the negative, I didn’t see how positively adorable I was.

I do the same thing when I look at photos of myself currently. Instead of looking at the friends that I’m with, or the fun activities I’m participating in, I’m staring at my rolls, curves, creases, etc.

And the thought occurred to me; 10 years from now, I’m probably going to look back on these photos and wish I’d appreciated what I had a bit more, instead of spending so much energy picking myself apart.

How much energy do I waste every day on hating myself, and picking myself apart? How many minutes do I spend analyzing and over-analyzing all of my flaws and mistakes?

Is it really worth what I'm putting into it? Or, in a decade, am I going to look back and regret that I didn't appreciate all of the awesome things going on in my life right this moment? 

Food for thought.