The Ideal Me

I see a beach with very white sand and a very clear, blue ocean. Someone labeled this paradise, and I believed it. So that is where I live. The Ideal Me, that is.

And you know what's funny? The Ideal Me doesn't have the perfect yogi body, flat abs, perfect shiny hair, flawless skin. Actually, she has wild beach hair and a soft tummy. She wears a long skirt and a braless shirt. Her nails aren't done, her legs aren't waxed. She is neither old nor young, and she is most certainly not a young-looking older woman. She is timeless. She has no make-up on, not even the liquid Benetint blush I swear I can't live without. She is barefoot and her feet are not graceful and elegant. Her breasts are not unnaturally perky and her butt is not hard as stone. She is kind of messy, and she seems almost careless.

But this Ideal Me that is so imperfect on the surface is so unquestionably, contagiously, boundlessly happy. She is at peace. She glows from within. She is always smiling. She rolls around in the sand, she splashes about in the ocean, she floats with the calm waters, she skips along the shore, she dances in the rain, and she laughs and laughs and laughs. There is nothing in the way. There is nothing she is waiting for.

She is also alone. This paradise does not include a love interest, family, or friends. It is just her. But she is not lonely. She is not afraid of dying alone, of getting old alone, of not having children, of not being loved enough in this lifetime. She doesn't see a time-line for her life, filled with marks of when things should happen by. She doesn't have a map or a compass, she lives freely and she has an unshakable certainty that everything is just as it should be.

This image comes to me effortlessly, I have no control over it. Sometimes it visits me when I feel very anxious, sometimes it shows up when I am very happy. Sometimes I open the refrigerator without knowing what I want, hoping that in that cold white box full of food there will be an answer to my mind's noisy questions, and all I hear suddenly is her laughter. She lives inside me, but she is present outside of me as well. She's just there; a stranger I know so well, a part of me I had no part in making.

It surprises me that The Ideal Me is not some glamorous Hollywood actress with a perfect body and a hot husband who's madly in love with her. She resembles more of a tree-hugging unshowered hippie, actually. She can't even be described as confident and self-assured. She just is. She just knows the things I hope to know, with all of her being.

She exists because I need her to exist. She has no message for me. She is just a presence, a part of myself that is able to live only under the umbrella of the "Ideal Me". She is a guardian, keeping my essence safe from the masks and armor reality has me wearing. And she leaves me with a stillness that roots me. She allows me to be.

Somehow, I do not find myself seeking to become her. I have not made her a goal. I keep her in this "ideal" place because somehow I know I can not be her. I have to be this version of myself, who worries, clings, dreams, and always wants more. She exists in some parallel universe, and the best I can do is honor that. I pay attention to the image, I let it affect me, and I welcome it, but I can not strive to make it a reality. She lives on that paradise beach, and I live in New York City. She doesn't need a career, and I have to act. She isn't waiting for love, and I am. She is happy with herself, and I am still working on my relationship with myself every day.

That is The Ideal Me. A vital part of me, capable of breathing life into my deadest pores, but not me. That is all she can be: an image. The human being part, that whole living life thing, that can only be done by this me.

Perhaps she looks at me from her world and envies that I get to have all my humanity, all my flaws, all my short-comings, all my insecurities, all my wishes. Maybe she thinks I have it easy, I get to fuck up as much as I want, because this is all a learning experience for me. Hah. That makes me laugh.

That's just how it is this time around: she gets the Ideal world and I get the Real world, but we get to see each other from afar and keep things in perspective. We keep each other safe. And that's a nice comfort, I'd say.