I didn't have enough to say about either topic, so I thought I'd combine them.
It was lunchtime at my high school. Instead of being a normal kid, I spent my lunch in the choir room, chatting with my pianist friend and my teacher. This particular lunch, someone played a Gershwin piece with a really ridiculous chord. It was two notes, bass clef, the E above middle C and the C sharp below. My pianist friend had to jump the notes when she played it, hoping that the pedal would cover up the fact that they weren't precisely on the same beat. I gave the chord a shot and found that it was comfortable, though any further than that was a little ridiculous. I probably bragged a little and then put my hand up to her hand, to compare finger lengths. I'm fairly sure I had at least one digit on her.
Comparing my hands with those of women is always great fun, but as soon as a man comes into the picture, I get just a little bit ashamed. When my hands are bigger/the same size as masculine hands, I have to be a little embarrassed for some reason.
Or maybe "had to" would be better.
My hands are a blessing. Long fingers designed for music playing. Thin fingers designed for hand modeling. Soft skin for when I hold hands. All good things. Not to mention absolutely awful circulation. (Not a good thing, entirely.) I can be totally comfortable outside except for my hands. I like to think that's an endearing flaw, but I'm not the person to ask.
Yeah, so, not everything about my hands is awesome, but I think the good things outweigh the bad. Significantly. And, the bad things even make the good things a little better. And I'm not so haughty about my hands, but I still get a fair number of compliments about them, all things considered. Which means that, probably, I should listen to those good things and take a second look at my hands.
My grandma used to always tell me how beautiful my collarbones are. I'd say, "Thanks, Gramma" but also I'd look at her with a bit of confusion apparent on my face.
"Just make sure you keep your shoulders back and have good posture," she'd advise. "I didn't and now my collarbones are crooked."
I thought that was such a weird thing to compliment; my collarbones are just like anyone else's. Then, one day, at the pool, I saw my grandma's and I realized what she meant.
(Appreciating things while we have them is extremely important. I could write a novel on that, but I won't. )
My collar bones and neck are a nice little picture of loveliness. My neck is long and slender. My collarbones are even and just prominent enough. They're perfect together as a fully feminine example of beauty. Something about curving straight lines.
That's what women are all about. Curves. Men are angular. Women are rounded and curvy. Men are strong, rock-solid. Women are soft and squeezable. Man necks and shoulders are meant to be clung to and rested on. Woman necks and shoulders are meant to be gently caressed and kissed. Women are just dainty and beautiful, but strong and undeniable too. We're the perfect mix of submissive and coy, loving and affectionate, dependent and independent, immovable and flexible.
And that flexibility and stability are especially manifested in our shoulders and necks. Our necks and shoulders can be rigid and stiff when they need to be, but we can also choose to let them be moved and molded.
Femininity is a marvelous thing. Our hands are dainty. Our necks are soft. But we are in control of our bodies and our emotions. We can choose to be affected by the comments others make, or we can choose to be strong. Taking a compliment and running with it is a great thing and so is being able to let a hurtful tone roll off our backs. Ultimately, it comes down to finding your inner grace and not letting anyone do anything except build that up.
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