Dreaming of Who I Could Be

Every now and then, when I escape to the world at large without my children, I get a brief moment of disconnect. A blurry few seconds of a bad ass life accompanied by the thumping bass of the radio.

I imagine myself strutting.

Usually in a cropped, black leather moto jacket. With epaulets. The epaulets are important.

Then Reality crashes in and I remember that I hate jackets. I mean, I love ogling them and thinking about being the type of person who rocks awesome jackets as I also rock awesome boots and perhaps ride a motorcycle.

Imagine. Me. All sleek and sexy lines.

But I hate jackets.

I hate how they constrict my shoulders. I hate taking them on and off. The changing of temperatures. The putting of the jacket somewhere. The remembering to take the jacket home with you.

I own a lot of jackets but I never wear them.

It’s a good thing I live in a very temperate part of California.

Also? I’m terrified of motorcycles.

Anyhow. What was I saying before my tangent on jackets?

Ah, yes. This glimpse of a life that never was, that possibly could be, but probably won’t.

Here’s the thing. It isn’t the jacket or the boots or the makeup or the hair.

It’s the SWAG.

I have lost my swag.

Actually, did I ever really have it? Was there ever a time where I just felt like a BAMF and walked into a room feeling like I owned it and everyone should bow before my awesomeness?

I cannot ever recall feeling this way.

Maybe on my wedding day because if you don’t feel like a BAMF on your wedding day, I suppose that’s a sad thing.

Come to think of it, BAMF is the wrong descriptor for how I felt on my wedding day. I stand corrected.

This lack of BAMF-ness makes me sad. Because why shouldn’t I feel like I’m a badass? Why am I always walking around feeling like I’m an impostor?

I’m not saying I should walk around acting like an entitled prat, but you know, there must be some sort of socially acceptable in-between state, right? It shouldn’t be either feel like you don’t belong or feel like you’re better than everybody.

Do men go through this?

Is this something uniquely given to women?

I’m sure there are millions of articles on this subject. I probably have read most of them.

The problem is thus: I feel such a disconnect from who I really am and who I wish I could be. And on top of that, I feel bad because a lot of who I wish I could be would be attainable if only I put in the work. But I don’t want to put in the work!

So, I guess I don’t really want to be that person.

This is the hard part: to sift through all the things I think I want to get to the parts I really do want. And then to decide whether or not I want it badly enough to put in the work. And then when I do put in the work, to not get discouraged by the discomfort of actually working.

There are way too many steps in this.

And who is to say that what I think I want will make me happy? Or happier than what I am now?

But I suppose, if I never give it a shot, I will never know. And that the FOMO will perhaps eat me up inside, full of regret and resentment.

I guess it’s time to stretch and grow and all that other good cliché stuff. Who’s with me?

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