On most days I really don't care about the size of my calves -- what kind of person would I be if I did?
We live in a world of ISIS and Ebola, after all, and certainly I am not so superficial as to concern myself with the pettiness of not being able to squeeze my overly-muscular calves into a cute pair of Hunter rubber rain boots.
‘No vote in the United Nations will make any difference on that. ‘America will put our embassy in Jerusalem,’ Haley said.
‘No vote in the United Nations will make any difference on that.
Why was I suddenly over-focusing on something so seemingly trivial as the size of my calves?
And for whatever reason dating in my 50s seems to have amplified these negative feelings.
After some time, I realized that it really wasn't about boots (it never is).
Rather, it was about feeling different, and not in a good way.
I know I'm not the only one who feels this way, as I've talked to many people, especially women just like me -- 50-something, empty-nested, divorced, and dating for the first time in years, who have admitted to similar feelings.
They over-focus on one trait, one characteristic, one mistake, one perceived physical flaw, as evidence that they don't quite measure up, don't quite belong, don't quite deserve, are "other than," and if this one trait, characteristic, mistake or flaw could just be fixed (or even well hidden), then their desirability would increase, and life would be just grand.