Out from Under the Gunk

I used to be skinny and sexy and spunky. I used to feel pretty. I used to feel terrific in my clothes--and out of them, incidentally. And I'm not talking about when I was 22. At 22 I already had 2 babies and was in full-swing Denim mu mu mommy stage. How embarrassing.

I'm talking 32. Even after 3 kids, years 30 to 32 were great me years. On top of my game. Of course, I was alone, besides my children, and in between boyfriends. But still. I felt good being me. And now? Well, in many ways I'm even more alone, but this time I'm much less me.

Where am I, anyway? I miss me. I love being a mom and doing all the mom stuff. But there is, or at least there should be, more to me! I feel out of place inside myself these days and I don't like it one bit.

I realized with shock and horror the other day that I hardly ever sing anymore. People, this is not good. In fact, this is a very bad sign. I'm not a good singer, but still, I've been known for my singing. Not the quality of it, but the tendency to be doing it constantly. Like in my kitchen. Belting out songs with great harmony parts, like I am the A+ backup singer extraordinaire, or that Celine Dion is my backup singer. Feeling the music sweep through me and feeling like a million bucks, even though I was really just a divorced mom in a kitchen making pasta. Or, like in my car. I used to be a very famous car singer. My children knew not to talk because they might interrupt me at a very good part. I would get random text messages on my phone while driving that would say, "Stop singing!", or "I can hear you singing!" My friends knew me well.

And I would laugh when I read them. Laughing and singing and driving.

Oh great, I hardly ever laugh either. Man, I'm a great laugher too. Other people used to laugh just watching me laugh. I'm not sure if life was funnier back then or not. I mean, I certainly have never had a shortage of tragedy and despair in my life, and somehow I still found time to double over in belly laughs.

I miss laughing and singing. And yet, I can't really find either of those parts of me anywhere. I hate that. They're some of my best stuff.

So now I'm out skinny, sexy, spunky, laughter, and singing. This isn't looking good.

This may be the time for me to pull a Madonna. You know, how we think she's faded into the 80's woodwork, and then BAM! There she is again, bigger, badder, buffer--calmer, softer, wiser. The queen of reinvention.

I need to reinvent me.

Or not even reinvent, necessarily, but rediscover. Get rid of all the junk that's bogging down my greatness and potential, my essence. My soul. Time is slipping by and I'm losing out on some classic years. So that means I've got to dump some insecurities, throw some caution to the wind, stop listening to the voices that tell me all the yucky stuff that makes me feel badly, and just--oh, sorry, here it goes. I know it's cliche and I didn't plan to say this, but I have no choice--

Live, Love, Laugh.

And then?

Sing.