“Excuse me, does that skin come in a size 6? I’m starting to put on my winter weight.”
The French have an expression, mal dans sa peau.
To feel bad in one’s skin.
It happens when something — whether it be your career, your home life, or even your behavior, doesn’t seem to reflect the person you want to be. Or worse, the person you know you really are.
Like someone who never ends sentences with prepositions. Or overuses fragments.
Just for example.
Remember my letter to myself? Oh, yes. I have skeletons in my underwear drawer.
And I would venture to guess that *94% of people who feel this way just learn to live with it.
Discontent and disappointment is a part of life, they say. Get over it.
Then there’s about 5%, poor souls, who haphazardly try to make changes here and there, or who wait for signs or divine inspiration to point them in the right direction.
They think a dream is going to wake them in the middle an epiphanal moment and suddenly, out of nowhere, their skin just fits. Like Jame Gumb sewed a new one just for them.
Except not as gross.
The problem here is that we’re people — not snakes. We can’t just shed our skin when it gets a little itchy or starts to feel confining. (And those of you yelling, What about microderm abrasion or skin peels, huh?! can just be quiet because you know I’m talking about figurative skin. Smartasses.)
So in most cases, waiting for Santa to bring us a new skin suit is futile. It ain’t gonna happen. Even if we unzip the one we have, drop it on the beach, and run clear across state — or country — lines, our own skin has a creepy way of stalking us.
And I think this is what that last 1% of people — those mal dans sa peau people — figure out. The only way skin can be changed, really changed, is slowly and deliberately over time.
Think about it.
I wanted a new career, and it took me over a year to figure out that no one is going to walk up and hand it to me all wrapped up in a pretty blue box with a white ribbon. And if something like that were to happen, it would most likely be wrapped in a brown paper bag covered in grease stains and secured with duct tape and should, as indicated by the chickenscratched and misspelled address, be approached with extreme caution.
I think I’ll pass.
Which unfortunately means I have to work for it.
And if I don’t like the fact that I’ve somehow managed to turn into a tightly-wound stressball at home who can’t stop thinking about how much money I used to make, I can change that, too.
It took me time to get here, but I used to be someone I liked.
I can be her again. It just takes more time.
So. The good news is we’re not stuck with the people we’ve become. If you’re bad in your skin, maybe it is time for a spa treatment. Sandpaper that shizzle right off and start fresh. The healing process might be painful. And it might make you look ugly sometimes. But if you keep in mind that person you want to be, it’s worth the funny looks you get in the meantime.
“I got a chemical peel. Is it bad?”
My name is Katie, and, in a nutshell, I’ve gone from waitress, to Geographic Information Specialist and Sustainability Coordinator, to unemployed, back to waitress, and now an underpaid Real Estate and property management assistant who kicks people out of their homes for a living.
I know, right?
But don’t worry. It’s all part of the process.
*All percentages referenced above are 100% concocted from my own imagination. Do not use them for reports, statistical analyses, or a master’s thesis on anything other than a psychological analysis of people who pull random statistics out of their asses. In which case I want to be cited. And let in on the results.