Saludos, Mis Amores!!!
Greetings, My Loves!!!
I had to repost my Guest Appearance on XINA SY’s blog, THE BIG, BOLD, BEAUTIFUL BLOG. I so enjoyed writing the post and loved working with Xina Sy to bring it to her readers and now to my readers (especially the ones who follow but aren’t on Facebook, where it was originally posted). Please follow this ink to read more about other sensational women featured on the BBB blog…www.thebigboldbeautifulblog.blogspot.com.
By Author, Claudia Moss, Photos by Zenpressions
“Today, I’m fabulous, fierce and 53, and I can think of no greater place to be.”
40! That’s passé! Can we say, yesterday?
Today, I’m fabulous, fierce and 53, and I can think of no greater place to be. There isn’t a doubt in my mind. I am a good-lookin’ Momma, primarily because I feel good inside, where it counts the most. In the mirror, morning, noon or night, I peer at my reflection and love what I see smiling back at me.
Undoubtedly, I feel sexier than I’ve ever felt in my life, and I have always glided with an intense awareness of my sexuality and sex appeal, although previously I didn’t much act on it sexually. And as such, I have worn my share of invisible habits and nun’s headgear. Yet these days I am clearly sensing an internal shift. Call it the bite of an adventurous bug. Call it curiosity. Call it inquisitive. I don’t mind. Fact is, I feel sexually, sensually alive!
With each breath I take, Beloveds, I reinvent the notion of ‘Fine over 50.’ I don’t give a who-who if popular women’s magazines rarely extend those charts of women, famous and otherwise, in different age groups that range from the 20’s to the 40’s, ostensibly omitting women in their 50’s and upward. Wouldn’t you think they would know to hop off the Hollywood Bandwagon? Women, same as men, exist after 40. And if a Sean Connery can co-star with a young sizzling siren, so too, can a Diva from the same era…with a siren or a stud?
Can you hear me? Come closer. I’ll let you in on my truth…. I love me. And I love my body. I absolutely adore and respect it, how it works and how it responds to the loving care I offer it. I refuse to settle. Not placing myself on anyone’s option schedule. My Ms. Sensational is out there!
The body is our temple, and we should treat it as such. Not only do I honor my Taj Mahal, I adore the way I move in the skin I’m in. The sensuality of dance, a silky sway of the waist, a ripple of the abdomen, the bump and quick wiggle in the hips, arms raised and angled just so, head tilted provocatively—my body is distilled art. I am fascination in motion, evidence of an imaginative power in the Universe. As long as I keep myself moving and dancing and walking and running and pretzeled and prancing, I hope to be vibrantly present well into my silver years. My sensual body makes it paramount I pamper my muscles with ample periods of rest and relaxation. As well as daily exercise to include muscle-building routines.
My eyes savor the caress my Fabulous-50 self. I embrace me, all of me. A thousand halleluiahs I didn’t succumb to the breast augmentation I pined for years ago at a time I frowned on my hiccup-sized cup, dreaming about a sumptuous décolletage. Breasts have forever enthralled me. They are indeed the Divine’s handiwork! Half-dollar sized, a doll’s pectoral glands, mine were shotgun teeny in my teens and early twenties. A road map, they pointed straight ahead. Not a salute. A poke or a prod might be more like it. I cherished them on most days; on others, I fantasized about waking up, magically, in my friend’s Maiden Form or in a Victoria Secret’s lacy number with an equally sexy name or reeling under a pair of traffic-and-speech stopping double D’s.
My sisters—truth be told—we’ve all been there, and if it wasn’t our breasts, it was another body part, i.e., thick thighs or a derrière out-to-there, before J-Lo or Janet posteriors were stamped approved by those outside of our beauty standards.
Today my breasts are more than a handful. Perhaps a buck and some change and two handfuls. I find them enchanting, in or outside of a bra. On my bathroom walls or inside the shower, there isn’t a waterproof placard reminding me to self-check them for lumps or signs of change. I do that naturally, adoring me reverentially.
Hairy legs. Hmmm. I used to boast (what some folks dubbed sexy) hairy legs. Compliments coming consistently, I stopped bowing to some of my Sister-friends’ beauty standards—of flawless stretches of smooth legs under booty shorts, short skirts and don’t-hurt-‘em dresses. But over time I fell, plummeting so far past go, I never found my way back to my hairy legs. One day I fell in love with shaved legs, and…oh well. We win some, and release others.
India Arie floats along over there, a bit beyond my enlarged, well-lit monitor, declaring, “I am not my hair~~” And, I know why she’s here, if only in my momentary imaginings. She’s come to remind me that I am more than my parts. And she is correct.
I am more than my Sisterlocks, trimmed and cut and colored, if I should so desire. I am the Love that wells up from within; for me, others and the Universe. I am much more than the clothes I select to adorn my form, garments that honor my freedom to honor my sex appeal. I am the willingness to help others, even as I open to Spirit’s generosity in manifesting my dreams. And I am indeed far more than the knowledge and skills I’ve acquired over 53 summers of being present on this plane. For I am the Knowing that what I seek seeks me, when I desist wanting to tell the Divine how my day and life should go. In the final analysis, I know I’m Fabulous. No boast intended. Only self love and self confidence. And self knowledge of healthy living!