There is a woman on my vision board.
She is a size two, a minimalist with a mostly black wardrobe and a few pops of color. Blue, tan and coral. She wakes up at 5:30 every morning, setting her bare feet on the ground to begin her morning gratitude meditation. Grabbing her journal from the tidy vanity without moving her feet from the floor, she jots down three pages of free thought in 10 minutes. Arising with a clear mind and a thankful outlook, she sets her sights on the day ahead.
Room temperature lemon water is her drink of choice, but not until routine oil-pulling while doing her warm-up stretches. After 45 minutes of exercise with her favorite instructor, she takes a few swigs of green juice and heads for the shower.
Rose water, serums and crème is applied; hair is pulled into a sleek chignon. Sliding into a curve-skimming sheath and ballet flats (her uniform of choice), she heads out into the city.
Her favorite commute routine is the application of eyeliner, because it always draws stares and reminds her hands still hold their youthful precision. She heads into the office, where making people look good with her words gives her purpose. Coffee, fruit and almonds fuel her morning, light meats and vegetables her afternoon.
Depending on the evening you will find her in her kitchen, at the theater or commanding a steakhouse bar table. For easy evenings at home Italian is her favorite, as a simple pasta dish is the easiest to modify for one person.
Because, of course, she lives alone.
An enclave deliberately small enough to discourage extended company, filled with the tiniest amount of things that bring her joy. She has a long-term love a distance away, a worldly man appreciative of what America can offer an ambitious immigrant but un-enamored with the fairy-tale of “America the Great”. They regularly meet over wine at chosen locales, with banter and tales of dating misadventures filling their eve till they fill of themselves. They part, breathless and grateful their distance allows the extended illusion.
She is enviable. She is witty, and fit, and undeniably sexy. She is me.
If I ever get my shit together.
She wakes with me at 6:45 am and asks me why I’ve wasted over an hour of productivity. She stands over my words, wondering why I choose to hand them over to the internet instead of making them my source of income. She examines my waistline, frowning at its current expansion.
She hates my lived-in apartment.
She stares at the blank pages of my journal and asks me what morning will I begin. She sees the doughnut on my desk and wags her finger at the absence of green juice and almonds. She interrupts my moments of joy to remind me that I’d likely be even happier.
If I got my shit together.
For years I have chased her, convinced she was the reason I did not get that job, could not keep that man, would not get as far as I wanted to. I, who loved too hard and lived too messily, paled in comparison. I was never enough.
Somewhere on this odd journey of self-discovery, while learning to love the ache of solitude I looked around at the glorious chaos that was my life and realized this was it. She is me, and I am me. And if I was going to get on with my life, I was going to have to accept the messy, broken bits that came along with it.
I am the woman that loves to apply eyeliner on the train..for the three weeks every year that I care about makeup. My mornings have structure some days, and some days they don’t. I’m never, ever going to entirely give up doughnuts. My minimalism manifests itself everywhere except my wardrobe (okay, and my kitchen. I have far too many fun appliances-but I use them all!). My “brings me joy” meter may be slightly off (as I observe the clutter atop my table). A broken heart never killed me. And by best life is now.
I am never going to have it together 100% of the time. And while she is a lovely thing to aspire to, she is not a source of failure or the reason a person would not stay in my life. Learning to love the messy bits, and finding a tribe that does the same, has brought me more joy than any regimen ever has. This is it. This is me. And right now, I am enough.
Ok, my pores could be smaller…