In my blog sits several versions of a story I started a while back. The story was all about me but I couldn’t get it right, couldn’t make the words fit together. So there it sits. Never to be published.
The short version of the story is I have a slight interest and fascination with selfies. Self portraits that capture me, in a moment in time that either is so significant or not even the slightest. Doesn’t matter. It’s me. Just me.
But you see, I have a problem with that. I almost always shoot a photo of myself and hate it and immediately erase it. Honestly, I (oftentimes) think the entire idea of shooting selfies is so fucking vain.
And on the other hand … gah! Having those photos is lovely, is it not? Even when there are three chins and bad hair (and for that matter, bad chin hairs) and smeared makeup. Everyone should celebrate themselves and their beauty, both on the inside and out.
So why do I find it so amazingly difficult to shoot … and keep … photos of myself?
It’s not impossible, as you’ve seen if you’ve looked at my Facebook or Flickr or Instagram pages. I do it. A lot, actually. But mostly it’s when I’m bored (quite frequently, it seems).
Here’s how it goes: I shoot. Delete. Shoot. Delete. Cross process. Say, HOLY HELL, I don’t look all that shitty in that one. Keep and post.
Someone quite beautiful on the outside once told me I may be the least photogenic person she’s ever photographed. She’s right. I don’t photograph well. But I’ve figured out that I mostly don’t photograph well when someone else is taking the photo. I clam up. I absolutely hate being in front of the camera. Not for me. Nope, nope, nope.
So finding that moment when I can shoot myself and like it … that is lovely and worth keeping.
Today I had surgery. I had cervical spine surgery (yes, on the neck, boo!) and have a huge-ass red, swollen scar that is so very visible. I thought I’d freak out when I saw it. Maybe it’s the drugs I have to thank … but you know what? I don’t hate it.
I took photos before and after. I have silly, memory-capturing photos of the word “YES” with a smiley face being added to my neck prior to heading inside the hospital (so docs would be sure to cut me in the right spot, you know). I celebrated that I was going in to this to feel better. To feel my hand again. To be strong and get stronger. I wasn’t nervous. My blood pressure was steady and low. I was a rock.
And that is sexy.
I’m allergic to surgical tape. I knew this going in. And you know what? I laughed it off with the OR nurse, Kassie, and told her that you gotta do what you gotta do. It’s a no-brainer. Of course I know I need to be put back together. And if a little tape is going to leave me with a glue rash on my skin, so be it.
So bring on the scars. It’s all part of the game. It feels good. I feel good. I’m strong and moving on to a better, healthier me.
And I’m taking photos along the way no matter how awkward or vain it seems.
(Rashes thanks to that surgical tape I said I’m allergic to … yeah, I know…)
For more photos of me embracing my new neck, check this link.