5 Days of Sarah's Birthday: Today, I celebrate my singleness.

The title of this blog is still as appropriate as ever.

Late bloomer.  

I'm going to be 33, and I still feel as though I'm learning like I'm 23.  It's taken me a while to get there, but my 30's have definitely been my time to blossom.  Instead of dwelling on the things about myself that disappoint me, that I want to fix, that I think I haven't done well enough, and all my failures and shortcomings as I usually do, I chose to do a little something different.

On Facebook yesterday, I wrote:

On this, the 5th day before I turn 33, I have decided that I will not judge myself as usual, but instead celebrate who I've become.

Day 5: I am grateful that I exist. I like getting to know me. I like Sarah Bauman. If I weren't her, I'd want to be her pal. You're alright, Sarah Bauman.

I have the greatest friends who were quick to remind me that they've know this all along.  I have the greatest friends - the best friends I've ever had, and I'm so in love with them.  But...  

Something that's been nagging at me a little more recently...  My perpetual singleness.  

Today, on the fourth day before turn 33, I will continue choosing to not judge myself as usual, and celebrate who I've become.

Day 4: I am grateful that I am single, and have really never been otherwise.  There have been many "almost's," many brilliantly random encounters that just don't seem to happen in real life (but they do!) that scream in and disappear just as quickly.  

I'm really glad I've never had my heart shattered after having been in love and lost.  Don't get me wrong - my heart's been broken.  But I don't know what it's like to be in love and lose that.

I'd rather be single than be someone's "maybe."  

I'd rather be single than be in something I know is temporary and futile.  

I'd rather be single than tolerated.  

I'd rather be single than strung along.

I'd rather be single than with someone who, after ages, just can't put a label on it.  

I'd rather be single and a little naive than jaded.

I'd rather be single and, despite how futile it can seem sometimes, still have hope.

I'd rather be single and strong and in love with loving everyone than settle for less than that with one.

Eventually, there will be one.  We'll both come screaming in, in one heck of an epic collision.   Eventually...  But until then, this will do just fine.  

Fat Archaeology: From dirt to display.

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I wonder if, when mummies were buried, they somehow knew that one day they might be on display.  Maybe they had some kind of will which stated, "I have been, and always will be smokin' and your mummification process had better show it off, or I will come haunt you.  I'm not kidding."  

Archaeologists’ initial intent might not have been simply to discover something so that others could see it.  But regardless of their paleontological aspirations, their dino-skeletons and ancient Egyptian kings have wound up behind glass for anyone who wishes to walk by, inspect, and discover for the first time themselves. 

While taking a leisurely stroll and chatting with my roomie the other night, she brought to light an aspect of Fat Archaeology that I had never anticipated: other people discovering me, too. 

Ouchy.  Did you know there's
a tendon there?!

This laborious, persistent excavation has revealed much more about me than I anticipated.  While scraping back layer by fluffy layer, I’ve come across collar bones, knuckles, knees and shoulder blades.  I’ve accidentally cut myself shaving where bones were once hidden behind a cushy, cushy buffer.  After the dirt’s been brushed aside and artifacts have been exhumed, there is infinitely more to be discovered. 

What is it that makes you want to stop and check out the mummy behind the glass, though?  Yeah, they look cool – but I bet they’ve got an awesome little placard next to them telling you about where they came from, what they did, and other interesting facts about their life.  This is what makes the discovery so appealing, and this is what has made it possible for me, and others, to discover me. 

I’m more open to allowing others to discover me because of all of these wonderful changes I’ve gone through.  I’m enjoying making myself more visible, whether it’s putting makeup on before going skiing so I feel a little sassier because you never know who you’ll bump into, or getting bolder with fashion because I’m confident enough to finally wear what I like.  After I realize that I’ve been checked out, I always find it wonderfully bizarre.  It really is a bit weird.  I don’t know why I feel this way, but I do.  It is good, yes.  But, weird. 

It’s one thing to catch a glimpse of myself walking down the street and think, “Ha – CUTE!!!”  It’s another to walk down the wrong aisle at the grocery store, have a handsome man smile at you as you walk by, and smile back.  Then, said handsome man smiles at you again on the way out, offers to carry your bag knowing full well that all you’re carrying is a box of tin foil.  So, you let him, and he walks you to your car and says goodnight. 

Placard read, subject observed.  Score.  

I’d be lying if I said that I wasn’t looking forward to getting to a point where I’d feel better about myself and start having a few people stop, read my placard, and gaze through the glass for a little while.  And, alas, it is happening. 

Here is the beauty of not being a mummy behind glass any longer.  I can smile back.  I can be the exuberant, confident person who is eager to fully participate in life, and let other people admire it, too.   

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The "D" Word.

Yeah.  The “D” word.  Go ahead – guess which one it is.

Dresses?  Dorky?  Does she mean a swear word?  No, dumby…  Oh -that’s a D-word, too…

Dating.  I hate that word.  When I think of dating, I think of some awkward, lame thing you do for an evening with some person you’ve barely just met, and a bunch of annoying, stupid things and whatnot.  Do I sound like a bratty little teenager?  WELL – you don’t  date anyone properly for, like, 7 years and we’ll see how far you regress.  I haven’t been interested in anyone in a very, very, very long time.  It’s partly because I just haven’t, but I’m also pretty sure it’s because I’ve been pulling an ostrich, too. 

The idea of "dating" makes me about as comfortable as this video's business-man-by-day-wild-man-by-night, Maurice, and scrawny-wouldn't-have-made-it-as-a-viking Fred.  For lots of reasons.

Before you lose weight, it’s very easy to think, “Gee, golly – when I lose weight, I’ll be one pretty desirable hepcat!  It’ll be so much easier then!  Everything will just magically work out because I’m thinner – HOORAY!”

Well, I very well may be one desirable hepcat.  But this is another side of me I've kept safely hidden behind my steadily deteriorating wall of flubber.  Like many other things I've talked with you guys about, getting back in touch with it causes more of that annoying but liberating self-realization/growth nonsense.  I really am a pro at keeping things away that might hurt my heart.

I’ve never been one of those girls who embraced their size.  There are plenty of beautiful, strong, fantastic women who have.  I have never been comfortable with my physical body.  I’ve always known how to dress well – hide the funny bits and flatter the good ones…  I’ve never been shy, and I’ve always liked the things that are intrinsically me.  At times, I've thought that my personality and "coolness" were great enough to help people overlook my physical shortcomings, but I don't think I've ever really felt that it's possible for me to find love without fixing my exterior. 

Actually, what I really thought was that there was no way I would be able to meet someone great. I would either have to be single, or put up with someone gross enough to settle for me.  So, I’d rather be alone. 

Do I feel this way about people other people?  No.  Do we all say horrible, awful things to ourselves that we would never say to another person?  Abso-freaking-lutely.  The thought of someone saying things like that to a person I care about gives me the instant urge to cause them physical pain.  A couple of times.  But, somehow, it is always perfectly acceptable when trying to fairly, realistically analyze myself. 

So, I suppose I was right.  My exterior did have to change, but not for the destructive reasons I'd convinced myself of, and not to make me worthy of love.  Things at my core had to be shaken, rearranged, and sorted out so that I could be capable of accepting love should it happen to come my way.

So, when will it happen for me?  When will I finally meet someone again?

Who knows?  I look forward to it, but I don't care when.  For now, I am happy learning to love myself little by little.