This post by Chelsea (one of this week’s current obsessions) about being a woman made me think a lot. In it (seriously, though—ignore my summary and read the original—worth it!) she discusses the sort of woman she is, and the kind she wants to be. It made me think a lot about who I am, about who I’m trying to become, and at the end of the day the sort of woman I’d like to be. Sure, I have a subscription to Real Simple, a bundt cake pan, a rice cooker, and I can usually find my way out of any bad situation in the kitchen. I have a real, grown-up job, and a long-term relationship, and a cat. I can usually pay my bills (most of the time, okay?!) and I’m what most would consider an adult.
Sometimes, I still feel like a little girl. I think of all the things I want to do, the kind of woman I wish I was. I wish I was the person who looked at a breakfast menu, ignored the delicious breakfast food and went straight for the egg whites or the fruit and yogurt plate instead of the pancakes or an omelette, with potatoes or toast. I wish I was the kind of girl who popped out of bed every day at 5:30 for a run and enjoyed it. I wish I was the tiny, itty-bitty girl whose jeans were forever falling off because she’s so little.
I wish I ate big salads. I wish I was always cheerful and nice, and never grumpy or sarcastic or mean-spirited. I wish I was the first friend people called when they want to go out because they know I’m fun. I want to be that girl who goes to baseball games and can drink beer with the guys and chow down on hot dogs. I wish I was talented enough in art to sell my stuff and be respected. I wish my blog had a bigger following, and I got swag and sponsors and all of that. I wish I was the girl whose outfits were imitated and coveted.
I’m not complaining. I’ve come a long way in the self-esteem department, and for the most part, I’m a pretty happy girl, with who I am, the choices I make, the things I do and feel and am. Still, sometimes it’s fun to dream about the things I’m not, and what it’d be like if those were the things I was…
Who do you wish to be sometimes?