The secret to happiness isn't where you think it is
The grass is only greener until you take off the green glasses
I have midriff envy.
I’m not proud of it. But I’m told that acknowledgment is the first step towards recovery.
For those not familiar with the term, a midriff is the midsection of the torso. In many cases, these midriffs are perfectly sculpted, toned, and graceful. You can find them on men and women. When bare, they are set off by colorful and sometimes very tiny crop tops. During the summer months, midriffs show up everywhere - the grocery store, the mall, and even the Registry of Motor Vehicles. While not a requirement, some people think that they look best on people with “lean midsections”.
I wish I had a “lean midsection”.
I dream of being 5”10” with a tiny waist.
There has to be a magical machine out there that can stretch my 5’1’ spark plug form into a lean, languid, lovely silhouette. We just need to retrofit one of those taffy-making machines.
If I was taller and curvier, I would be able to wear crop tops. But even more exciting, I could wear adorable belts. Leather, sequins, macrame. Like beautiful necklaces lovingly crafted to draw attention to tiny waists.
If I had more vertical stature, I could reach the overhead bins on the plane with confidence. I wouldn’t have to stand on my tippy toes and wait for some nice young man, with a wonderful mother who taught him to assist the helpless, to put my bag in place.
And, if I had a longer torso, I wouldn’t have to do the side-to-side shuffle to see past the massive guy seated in front of me who was obscuring my view of the stage.
If you look at my immediate family, I should be taller.
My dad was over 6 feet. My mom was over 5’10. My sister and brother both got the tall stuff. To make me feel better, my parents used to tell me that I took after my two grandmothers, the matriarchs, who everyone looked up to even though they barely broke the 5’ mark.
I was small from the start but back surgery as a kid stunted my vertical ascendence as well. The orthopedic surgeon fused several vertebrae at the base of my spine where the waist is supposed to cinch in. While the surgery limited my height and career as a prima ballerina, it enabled me to run three marathons, give birth to two wonderful boys (now young men), and appreciate the ability to put one foot in front of the other.
Come to think of it, without the height, I’ve done okay.
It is easy to tie my shoes.
I’m quick to pick things up off the ground.
I can hide in small places.
If I was taller, I might bump my head in buildings with low ceilings, I’d have to stand in the back in group photos and, I’d be the one to help the short people put their suitcases into the overheads on planes.
I guess, being vertically challenged has been a plus. People aren’t intimidated by me. They choose me as the leader to weave through crowded spots. And, I’m at a good height for hugs.
In her song Soak Up the Sun, Sheryl Crow sings “It’s not about getting what you want, but wanting what you have”.
Smart thinking Sheryl. What is stopping me from wearing that crop top anyway?