Should I or shouldn’t I bare my 62 year old arms?
It’s certainly hot enough and I’ve got a sleeveless wardrobe ready to go on my rack!
Although my desire burns as deep as the mid-day Arizona sun, I am a reluctant barer of arms. I’m no Michelle Obama in the arms department. And even with endless sessions on my Total Gym, my giggle still wiggles.
I have a perfect body for me. I have come to terms with my sagging sisters, gray hair, and letting just about everything else “hang” out, except for my arms. I am still holding on to the notion that older arms are just not for baring.
Why does it take a bold move for me to feel comfortable showing my arms? Why is baring my arms akin to baring my soul? What am I afraid of?
Reason tells me that I’m still hanging on to old notions of beauty: if it’s not “perfect”, it’s not to be seen; an arm that waves back is unfashionable and a sign of weakness; and after a certain age women should begin to cover up their aging bodies. (God-forbid, if the fashion police should nail an old broad on an arms charge!)
Reason tells me that I’m still holding on to learned expectations of aging: as the parts age, they are unsightly and need to be covered; as we age, we begin to disappear and lose relevancy; and that natural aging is not beautiful.
Reason also tells me that people are attracted to and focus on one’s confidence, personality, and joie de vivre. My bared or not bared arms are not part of anyone else’s equation except mine. My bared or not bared arms are not judgmental fodder for the masses. Feeling personal comfort and pride is far more important than giving up one’s power because of a learned fear.
So, it’s time to let go of my last bastion of obsession and bare my arms with pride! It’s time to be accepting and move forward “sleeveless-ly” with poise and self-assuredness. It’s about time I wave good-bye to these impairing beliefs and let my unbridled personality shine through.
Life’s too short not to go sleeveless. Life is too short not to have self-acceptance.