A few weeks ago, I blogged about finding happiness in little things like wearing earrings and make-up to work. The new year brings with it the predictable buzz of resolutions (made by other people, not me - I resolved not to make any resolutions this year).
Everywhere I turn, there are enticing advertisements promising to turn me into "the new me." Who is this elusive new me? What is she like? Is she thinner, prettier, fashionable, well-read, the epitome of grace and poise? Does she wear high-waist slacks that I have always wanted to wear but never been able to pull off? Does she have those two extra inches in height that I have always wanted? Does she have a library with a mahogany desk and floor-to-ceiling bookshelves? Does she have leather journals full of intelligent essays and beautifully rendered poetry that she has penned herself ? Does she know how to read music? Does she play the piano? Does she know how to cook healthy food that tastes great? What is her style - understated and minimalistic, bold and forward, or does she simply exude a quiet brilliance? Does she like eating fancy things like oysters? Is she above feeling guilt and remorse for things she can't change? Does she have time for spas and charities and fundraisers and exercise and wellness?
The questions are endless.
Here's the thing. I don't want to be "the new me." I like me! I am happy being me even when I am in my cotton pajamas ALL DAY on my days off. I am fine with that. I am OK with writing blog posts that are about both the significant and insignificant parts of my life because they mean something to me, and I'd like to think that this emotion gets translated into my writing. I like playing episodes of The West Wing while I work on (and simultaneously curse at) my macbook with Usman's snores in the background. I love planning meals and hunting new recipes for tried and tested favorites like Chicken Karahi, Korma, Bhuna Keema. I am perfectly comfortable with cooing to Jahan in a really annoying baby voice that singsongs and lisps and makes her laugh uncontrollably. I think being the current me is fine, especially if it involves driving through the breathtaking scenery of the peninsula every morning, listening to a great audiobook, as dawn breaks in orange-grey streaks on the horizon, clouds hug the mountains at a distance in a cottony embrace, and fog lingers in the air.
New year, same me, except I have decided to add "wearing heels" to the list of things that boost my happiness along with earrings and makeup. So far, it's going great.
Everywhere I turn, there are enticing advertisements promising to turn me into "the new me." Who is this elusive new me? What is she like? Is she thinner, prettier, fashionable, well-read, the epitome of grace and poise? Does she wear high-waist slacks that I have always wanted to wear but never been able to pull off? Does she have those two extra inches in height that I have always wanted? Does she have a library with a mahogany desk and floor-to-ceiling bookshelves? Does she have leather journals full of intelligent essays and beautifully rendered poetry that she has penned herself ? Does she know how to read music? Does she play the piano? Does she know how to cook healthy food that tastes great? What is her style - understated and minimalistic, bold and forward, or does she simply exude a quiet brilliance? Does she like eating fancy things like oysters? Is she above feeling guilt and remorse for things she can't change? Does she have time for spas and charities and fundraisers and exercise and wellness?
The questions are endless.
Here's the thing. I don't want to be "the new me." I like me! I am happy being me even when I am in my cotton pajamas ALL DAY on my days off. I am fine with that. I am OK with writing blog posts that are about both the significant and insignificant parts of my life because they mean something to me, and I'd like to think that this emotion gets translated into my writing. I like playing episodes of The West Wing while I work on (and simultaneously curse at) my macbook with Usman's snores in the background. I love planning meals and hunting new recipes for tried and tested favorites like Chicken Karahi, Korma, Bhuna Keema. I am perfectly comfortable with cooing to Jahan in a really annoying baby voice that singsongs and lisps and makes her laugh uncontrollably. I think being the current me is fine, especially if it involves driving through the breathtaking scenery of the peninsula every morning, listening to a great audiobook, as dawn breaks in orange-grey streaks on the horizon, clouds hug the mountains at a distance in a cottony embrace, and fog lingers in the air.
New year, same me, except I have decided to add "wearing heels" to the list of things that boost my happiness along with earrings and makeup. So far, it's going great.