Once upon a time, not too too long ago, I was a sexy, gorgeous babe -- or so I thought. I was all about lookin' good in my short shorts and slinky spandex. For someone who had been overweight most of my life, I enjoyed the heck out of being thin and worked hard to stay there. I pumped iron with purpose, jogged the soles off my running shoes, and barely carried on a conversation unless it was about fat grams and calorie intake. I was obsessed with my body. Just ask my friends.
During that time, I had a date with the most handsome eye candy I had ever laid eyes on. He was the brother of a close girlfriend who assured me that he wasn't as perfect as he looked. I didn't care. Oooooh baby! I felt as though I had scored big time by securing a date with this JFK Jr. look-alike. If they could see me now, I thought, imagining myself gracing his arm. If I could date a hunk like him, I must be somebody. Why wouldn't he find me equally attractive? After all, I was intelligent, funny, charming, and most importantly, I was hot.
Was I ever in for a rude awakening -- rude being the operative word. It was our first and last date. I never heard from him again. Why? According to my date's sister, he didn't like the gap between my two front teeth! My darling space -- a sign of wealth and royalty, inherited from my father, which allowed me to shoot water at far-reaching distances and gave me significant whistle-power -- was my fatal flaw. From the start, my imperfect smile doomed the relationship in his mind. That, plus I wasn't Catholic. Well! I wondered who made him the Pope? And I thought I was just about right!
That was a few extra pounds and just as many wrinkles ago. Eventually I got bored emulating airbrushed, two-dimensional models on the covers of Cosmo and Vogue. I wasn't ever going to look like them anyway. I wanted to enjoy myself, not punish myself. Life was too short to limit my diet to grilled chicken and steamed broccoli, and while there was the thrill of comfortably zipping up a pair of size 6 jeans, there was also that indescribable pleasure of indulging in a gooey piece of steaming molten chocolate cake topped with hot fudge and vanilla Häagen-Dazs. Yum.
Sure, I'd like to have my cake and eat it too (or pie or ice cream, as the case may be). Who wouldn't? But rather than focus on someone else's ideal of what a woman should look like, I'd prefer to focus my energies on my ideal—concentrating on being healthy, creating a better environment in which to live, and spending time cultivating relationships with my family and friends.
So I'm not perfect, but I had to learn that life lesson by first trying to be. I aimed for perfection and missed the mark. I missed the point, too. I'm a lot more than meets the eye. Looks aren't everything, babe -- they're just the icing.
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Ellen ''EJ'' Sackett |
| About the author: |
| Ellen “EJ” Sackett, a born-again Texan, enjoys life with her husband on a ranch north of Dallas, the proud mother of 19 (mostly four-legged) children. She wanted to be Oprah when she grew up, but since that job was taken, she decided to become a concert harpist instead. After a life of world travel, center stage, and harp schlepping, EJ is happiest at home, creating on her laptop. Get to know Ellen better by visiting her website at www.ellensackett.com or
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