I like my body.
I don’t want to waste it.
It’s sort of like if someone gave you an awesome new pair of shoes. Some people might just leave them in the closet and polish them and not touch them.
Others might not wear them at all, saying they are uncomfortable, not their “style,” the wrong color, too tall, too short or just find something - anything - wrong with them.
But then, how fun are either of those two alternatives?
As for me, I wear the heck out of my shoes. I use them, own them, wear them everywhere I can, I scuff them up a little bit because I dance in them, I click them together, I wear them in the snow and rain and mud — I wear them until I can’t anymore. And then I still wear them nine more times.
That is how I feel about my body. I use it. I wear it. I move it. I decorate it. I polish it. But I wear it proudly. I mean, I have to bring it with me everywhere I go. There is no sense in hating it or denying it. That’d be like hating your shadow.
I do not want to change anything about my body. If there is a wrinkle or a roll, it is mine. I gave it to myself — by living! Would I rather never show facial expressions so I don’t have wrinkles? That’d be like never wearing your favorite dress so you don’t have to iron it. A pathetic waste.
