"Happiness is not something you get but something you do."
When I made a deposit at the bank yesterday, they handed me the above quote with my deposit slip. Since when do banks hand out sage words of wisdom?
Funny, because I do believe in doing happiness. And I also believe we can do sexy as well.
In my self-imposed funk, I find it ironic that I rarely feel sexy yet I masturbate like crazy. I can't keep my hands from finding the warmth of my wet flesh. I can't keep my breath steady after my mind conjures up imagined fantasies with lovers old, new and non-existent.
But outwardly, I carry myself quietly, shoulders slightly slumped forward instead of my normal shoulders-back-chest-out appearance. I don't feel like wearing clothing of any particular appeal except comfort. I close the door to my office and hibernate from the regulars who like to slip in and listen to my dynamic stories of friends, girls' nights and the vicariousness of being single.
You cannot have love for anything outside of yourself if you do not feel that same love for yourself. Your life is a mirror of relationships. Every person in your life is a mirror of you. Every love in your life is a reflection of your ability to love.
Just as a few commenters pointed out last week, we were created to love. When I'm lost in my funk, I am not loving, to myself or anyone else. I am lost in worry and anxiety.
I tend to forget that the sexiest I feel is when I am living in this present moment. I am smiling, confident and flirtatious when I don't worry whether or not someone is going to judge me for it. I feel comfortable in my skin on those days, when I can tell that we are all connected. I know in those moments that the energy I am sending out is creating the glorious reactions of love I feel from others I encounter.
Still, I wonder if it is an expectation of those in my life, that I will be that sexy, fun-loving, free spirited girl that lives for the moment. Because when I'm not, I seclude myself so as to avoid dragging others into the abyss with me.
I also find that when I'm feeling funky I neglect the truth of my body as well. I avoid yoga. My bike beckons me from its trainer, a mere foot from my bed. But I ignore it, yawn and bury myself deep under the covers with the mattress warmer cranked up to H.
It is by the end of the funk that I feel my age. My body is stiff, achy, sore. There is no way that this is the same body of the sexy girl who carries herself with such conviction on most days. No, this is the body of a very lonely woman.... one who cannot satiate the need for love or intimacy with self-pleasure, be that the form of sex, food, books, or music.
I have to pull myself from these depths and breathe life back into this body. I have to acknowledge the spirit that has never left me, but was merely resting beneath the epidermis of my funk. Once I coax her back out again, a smile approaches my lips. My shoulders creak back into their place of confidence. My legs long to be running, cycling or lengthening into asana again. I can hear my own laughter hidden under the selfish silence with which I had buried the sound.
I open my door again. Everyone acknowledges that I seem lighter. I'm seeking out the lacy underthings that affect my saunter with knowledge of what I look like underneath the office slacks and turtleneck sweater.
I am doing sexy. At least until the next funk decides to get all funky with me again.