Electric Phoenix

“Life should NOT be a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in an attractive and well-preserved body, but rather to skid in sideways, chocolate in one hand, champagne in the other, body thoroughly used up, totally worn out, and screaming ‘WOO-HOO!  What a ride!’ – Anonymous (exact quote varies)

“Nellie” by Brian Tomlinson

I first read the above quote many years ago and it’s always stuck with me.  It’s also directly and starkly counter-cultural to the attitudes of our modern society (particularly if you ever see or hear any advertisements during any time of an average day).

While a lot of wear to the human body is not always trivial (such as accidents, cancer, strokes, etc), I’m focusing here primarily on the physical as a visual, as a form of beauty, as wrinkles, weight gain or which mascara on the market will thicken one’s eyelashes with such gusto that it’s a struggle to keep one’s eyes open.

Most of us wish to live through many decades of a potentially adventurous and interesting life.  If our bodies are an evolving garment our souls wear, so to speak, then naturally, over time, they are bound to become threadbare and worn out.  I still have a favorite black tee-shirt from my high school years that today, over fifteen years later, I can literally see through it.  It would be ludicrous to expect a garment worn and washed hundreds of times to look like it has just come off the rack.  And yet so many people (women in particular) expect themselves (even if only subconsciously) to look twenty-five when they’re fifty-five, even going out of the way to avoid the warm, nourishing, vitamin D-enriched sunlight out of fear of developing wrinkles.  Hell, I didn’t even like the way I looked when I was twenty-five.  Wrinkle me all you want, Helios, the best things in life are FREE. Especially if the wrinkles come from enjoying life so much; they’re called “smile lines” for a reason!

Of course, our bodies are incredibly more sophisticated and self-healing than the clothing that covers them, but I believe it’s not an altogether incongruous analogy.  I have been treading this planet for just over three decades and already my physical body bears more marks and scars than you would believe.  The executives of products like Mederma and Neutrogena (not to mention the unholy empire that is Proactive) spend millions of dollars a year trying to convince me of how much better life would be if only I removed those troublesome blemishes by handing them my money.  But to me each scar is a bookmark in the story of my life that triggers an interesting memory and can tell a good tale.  Such as the time the TV fell on my head when I was three and sent my panicked parents rushing me to the hospital, where they were promptly interrogated in separate rooms by personnel under suspicion of child abuse since I had been in so many accidents that year (I have additional scars commemorating those incidents as well).  And how about you women who bear stretch marks that never seem to fade months or even years after giving birth?  Woman, your body was developing and nourishing another human being! That’s a lot more sexy and admirable than achieving the shallow physical “ideal” of the Olsen twins or Megan Fox.

I have been informed over the years by a few well-meaning people that I should look into dermabrasion, due to the acne scars that have permanently made themselves at home on my face’s skin.  I actually did, many years ago, when I was less secure with myself and still war-wounded by the hostility I had endured throughout my childhood and college years.  Aside from the procedure’s exorbitant expense, potentially painful side effects, and lack of evidence of trustworthy results, I couldn’t go through with it for the simple reason that if I did so, I was telling the shallow, judgmental people of the world that they were right – that my skin is a direct indicator of my intrinsic value.  Furthermore, I knew that I would always wonder if any new acquaintances would still have liked me had they had met me before the transition.  And lastly, my facial scars are a permanent reminder of the strength that I have developed through years of adversity due to prejudice.  I know for a fact I would not be the person I am today if I had been destined to look different than I have, in no matter what detail.

Like I explained before, my “imperfections” tell the story of who I was, what happened to me, and who I am now.  And I hope to heaven I garner a lot more evidence on my physical body before I die to prove how I really LIVED.