CONFESSIONS OF A FACEBOOK FAILURE: YEAR 2

Day 8: I found myself immersed in a decades high relic of retired Christmas cards and caught myself consumed by the emotion of the memories. What happened to it all?

Don’t panic.

Its not what you think?

I have no intention of switching out my sinful secrets for sentiment .  There will be no heartfelt reminiscing on the joys of Christmas’ past, today. And while those who know me, know that I am known to weep at far less worthy causes then the miracle of memories, this moment is far more rooted in the tears that fall from the torture of self-awareness, then anything Hallmark. No, instead this hallmark manifested with the awareness that MY “self”, was actually me. And as I sifted through my selves of Christmas past, the  juxtaposition of my then “me” and my now “me”, resulted in one, obvious inquiry. What the heck happened…to me?

I am talking about the radical regret I am faced with while perusing pictures past. How clear it becomes that these pictures from before, would better hold the title of “after pictures”, if I had only known what I would one day become. Not because of the beauty that once was (while it always made it to my novel of new year’s resolutions, beauty basics never quite found its way to my list of “resolved”), but rather at the pitiful lack of proficiency in personal maintenance that I now realize was only the starting point in my free fall into…well, you’ll get our Christmas card.  When did my old “fat” pictures become my goal shots? How did I age a decade in a matter of days? When did the preparation of little people becoming my primary, and a ziplock bag of lip gloss and off-color concealer and the mini-van passenger pull-down mirror, become my only defense against the cruelty of the camera? Why didn’t anyone tell me these lil’ monsters would age me in dog years? And why the heck didn’t I appreciate the peak, that was my past?

But then it hit me. If last year’s ugly is this year’s envy, why waste my time terrified in my reflection? Nope! As much as it amazes me, no matter how sad this year’s shot is, next year’s will be worse. This year’s fat, will be next years foxy.  This year’s gray, will be next year’s gorgeous. Its just science, people. So the next time you find yourself cursing your current, remember this, THIS, will one day be your skinny shot, the young you, the hot mama moment you envy. THIS! So knock those lil’ monsters out of the foreground and work the camera mamas! Those sneaky little scene stealers  have got years to peak perfection. But this…THIS, is your best…

…at least compared to next year’s disaster.

And in the spirit of my long dead Grateful 365 Project, I have decided to switch my shame to celebration, in an attempt to laugh and learn and embrace the ugly.

Grateful 365 Day 132: Perspective. Freakin’ perspective, people.