My hand resting on the phone, my heart beating rapidly, my mind racing, I was about to place a call to the much younger man I'd been seeing and explain to him that for reasons I didn't want to get into, I couldn't see him anymore.
Just as I was about to pick up the phone and deliver a speech I hoped wouldn't sound too over the top with mush and gush and other sorts of bologna, it rang in my hand, startling me. I checked the caller I.D; it was my girlfriend Anna, the one who had convinced me to go out with Darin to begin with.
"Hello," I said.
"Hello, Lovely! How are things with that hot young man you've been seeing?"
"Um, good," I said, completely lacking conviction.
"Uh-oh, what's wrong?" she asked, sensing my hesitation.
"Nothing. Really. It's just, well, I don't think I have what it takes to see someone who doesn't have a favorite episode of Gilligan's Island because he is too young to remember it and who has spent the majority of his adult life in graduate school while I was out getting married, having babies, getting divorced and struggling to find my way. We are a lifetime apart," I said.
"So what?! What difference does any of that make? Tell me about the really important stuff: What does he look like naked?" She's impossible.
"From what I can make out through his clothes, he's in fantastic shape."
"What the ...?" she said, sounding more than a little bit disappointed. "You haven't seen him naked? Please tell me that you haven't wasted the past two months dating a completely gorgeous, hot, young, sexy man and haven't at the very least taken a shower with him! You haven't closed? What are you waiting for?" She wanted answers and she wanted them now.
"It's just not ... the timing has been ... he's just ... I mean ...," I stuttered nervously.
"Don't bullshit me Sonja, what's the holdup?" She wouldn't let up and I was getting really annoyed.
"Nothing! I don't know what's wrong with me, OK?" I was hoping she'd sense my desire to drop the subject.
"Not good enough, what is it? Oh God, tell me you're not falling for him. You are, aren't you? That's it! If I have told you once ..."
Suddenly I couldn't take it anymore and screamed into the phone, "I don't want him to see ME naked, all right? Now can we please just change the subject?" My voice was quivering and after a pause, she softened.
"Oh. I see. I'm sorry. I just have to say one thing, then I promise I'll leave you alone. I'm not going to blow smoke up your ass and tell you everything you should already know about yourself. If you don't know how beautiful you are inside and out, then nothing I can say will change that for you. But this isn't about what you look like naked; it's about being confident. You see, lovely, beautiful women are a dime a dozen, but confident women are a rare find.
"When a woman has the confidence to let go of her insecurities and shed her inhibitions long enough to be free and open, allowing her to share herself completely with another person, well there just isn't a sexier creature on the planet. Ask around. I wish that confidence for you, my friend, because until you are able to love yourself with all of what you perceive to be your flaws, no one else ever will, and getting older is going to really kick your ass."
And with that, she hung up on me. I sat there for a long while, allowing her words to sink in. Although what she'd said only echoed what many of my male friends had told me repeatedly through the years, I was still unsure if I could let go and find the confidence I had always been lacking.
So I did the unthinkable. I took off all of my clothes and walked into my bathroom. I inhaled deeply before turning on the lights, my eyes still shut. I made a promise that I would only say positive things about what I saw. I started from the bottom up. Ooooh, ugly feet—bad idea; better to start from the top, I told myself.
OK: shiny, healthy hair; I ran my fingers over it. Slender shoulders, long, toned arms. I allowed my hands to roam, feeling a tingling sensation as I caressed skin that was surprisingly soft and supple. As I watched my reflection, the darnedest thing happened: A smile crept across my lips. This wasn't nearly as bad as I had feared.
My hands continued across my soft, round breasts down my rib cage, over my flat tummy to my little waist. They gently outlined the curves on my hips and then around to my bottom, that thing I always refer to as my big, fat, dumpy ass. I turned a bit to take it in. It was round and almost cute. I giggled at the thought. Then I took in my legs; they are slender and strong with skinny little ankles, connected to ... ooooh, my ugly feet—let's not go there.
I took a step back and took it all in. As I allowed myself to embrace the perfections of my imperfections, tears stung my eyes and I smiled at the body that would change with time but be mine forever. "I am beautiful," I said aloud. The words sounded so foreign, hanging in the air in my own voice, but admittedly, just the sound of them was like being covered in a warm blanket.
So I picked up the phone and dialed the number I had recently committed to memory. He answered on the second ring. "Hi, it's me," I said, exuding my newfound confidence. "I was wondering if you'd like to get together tonight. ... Great, my place, at 8. Oh and Darin, bring your toothbrush."
Sonja is a writer who covers the ins and outs of relationships. Or is it the ups and downs?