movie

I’m a frog

frogSo, I was watching a movie, and as the actress walked through the room I noted that she was tall and slender and graceful—and for whatever reason my brain equated her to a gazelle. A sleek beauty. A tower of head-turning porcelain skin that flowed like water with feet that never seemed to touch ground. My mind wandered father into that thought—what animal people emulate. She was a gazelle. I have a friend that is, without a doubt, a Lipizzaner stallion—shiny, show worthy & always ready to perform. Another that is quite possibly the last remaining phoenix—just when you think crash and burn will be the end, they come back stronger, taller. What the hell am I? Hmmm…

A few moments later, I jumped up to get more coffee—and acknowledged I am not a gazelle.

I’ve never been a gazelle. I will never be a gazelle. I will never be that stunning beauty that turns heads when they walk into a room. I will never be the fair maiden that men stumble over each other to talk to. I will never be the girl that lights up the room. I’m friends with those girls, but I am not one of them.

I’m a frog.

I don’t light up a room when I walk in, because I’m already in the room, playing pool in the back corner. I’m not the fair maiden they stumble for, I’m the one that points those out to them, the one they call in the middle of the night for tough love. And while I may be able to convince myself—in a dress, with the right hair and makeup applied—that I might be pretty, I will never be the beauty that stops discussion in a room when I enter. Instead, I’m the one with that last half of a shouted sentence when the rest of the room goes quiet. Nothing about me is sleek. Olive and porcelain are at the opposite ends of the complexion spectrum. And I do not have legs that go all the way up.

I am a frog.

I have no muscle in my arms, but can kill a man with my leg muscles. I’m short and jumpy, cute and spunky, and rumored to be an endangered species. And I’m ok with that. For the first time in my life, I’m really comfortable with the fact that I’m a frog.

For years I thought I was a tomboy. Once upon a time, one of those silly internet memes asked “which movie character are you?” I always thought I was Watts, Mary Stuart Masterson’s character in Some Kind of Wonderful. A tomboy. The girl that helps the guys get the pretty girl. “Just a girl.”

I may have been wrong about that.

I know what I am now, and I’m happy with it. Really happy. Happy with me–who I am, what I am, where I am. I have a better outlook on life, on me, and how I see myself.

A part of me is a little angry that it took me forty years to figure it out. I could blame society for telling me I have to mold into some sort of tall, sleek, gazelle (Barbie complex, anyone?). I could blame people in my past for pointing out I was not a gazelle, but never telling me it was okay to be a frog. I could blame my friends for acting just like the rest of the cast of any bad 80s movie and making me feel that my part was Watts. But it’s not their fault. None of theirs. It’s mine. For allowing those thoughts to supersede my own inner voice.

I found that voice–on a Tuesday at noon, for no good reason, when slapped with the gazelle on screen. And it’s a strong voice. It chirps in the rain and sings while it cooks. It blows bubbles and has anal towel-folding rules. It’s short, but a lot of good things come in little packages, plus Nana always said the short will inherit the Earth. It’s spunky—not loud and obnoxious. Those are other people’s words.

I’m done being ruled by other people’s words. I thank them for their input, because without it I may not have gotten here, but we’re done now. I am not fat, ugly and stupid. I’m a frog. There’s a difference.

A world of difference.

The spring peeps are out, and this little frog, clinging desperately to a branch in the wind and rain, has a life to live, books to write and a publishing industry to take over. If you don’t mind, I’m going to back to my lily pad now and work on that.

Ribbit.

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