Her Grace

During my senior year of college one of my dearest male friends from home drove an hour to slip a poem he had written under the door to my apartment. When I read it -- a beautiful ode to a girl he loved (me) -- my heart pounded in my chest, not because I loved him back but because I didn't. At the bottom of the page was a note: Bethany. I wrote this a while ago and wanted you to read it. Call me. S.

I didn't call him back for three weeks. He called me, several times, and each time I let the phone ring and ring until finally he quit calling. When I did finally return his call it was 1 AM and I had three too many double shot and pops. I drunkenly explained that I just didn't feel the same way and he mumbled something about it just being a poem. We never spoke of it again -- and our friendship was never the same. Within the year, we'd drifted apart completely.

Regret still rises in me when I think about that. I think of how he must have felt driving over that night -- his heart in his throat, his poem sitting in an envelope on the passenger's seat. I couldn't give him what he wanted, but I could have given him the respect he deserved as a wonderful loving person, as my friend. I could have shown him the grace he apparently saw in me, that I didn't yet see in myself.

Grace.

I've always wanted someone to describe me as graceful. I always thought I'd love to be that person who makes you feel at home with in a minute of meeting for the first time -- the person with the easy smile and the charming personality who everyone is drawn to and loves. I'd bend over backwards to be able to slip on a pair of chinos and a faded tshirt -- hair pulled back into an easy ponytail -- and still look beautiful. I'd love to be a model mother, wife, daughter, sister, friend.

Graceful is not a word I think people would use to describe me. Funny, smart, pretty, strong -- those are words even I'll agree with on a good day -- but graceful? Not really. This has bothered me for years and when I look in the mirror -- and when I look inward -- I chastise myself Why did you say that? Why did you do that? Why do you have to be so awkward?

For some reason, turning 34 changed that. I still recognize that I'm not graceful in the ways that I'd love to be, but I understand that that's just not me. I've been striving to be a person I'm not, like trying to make an apple pie out of oranges. I just don't have the right ingredients.

But I do have my own version of grace. You may not see it upon meeting me, but it's there. And in my 35th year, I've decided to nurture it. It's time to quit trying to be the new me and start being the real me. Making this decision feels a little like moving into a new house...well, a new old house. Kind of like my real house. It needs some work, but all the important pieces are in place.

I want to be a more graceful mothert, wife, daughter, friend and be present, easy to talk to, and a loving resource. I want to be a more graceful consumer and reduce my family's impact on the environment. Finally, I want to be more graceful with myself -- exercise, eat right, and quit stuffing my emotions with food.

145 -- as this blog was previously titled -- really doesn't fit anymore. It's a number plucked from a chart that tells me what someone my height and build should weigh. I am so much more than a number on a scale. I'm a whole person working on feeling comfortable and more graceful in her own skin every day. So welcome to Her Grace. Come on in, I'll take your coat. I may forget to ask you if you'd like something to drink and there may be dog hair on the sofa, but if you stay long enough you may find that behind your hostess's shy smile is a graceful heart -- and she's trying to let it show through.