While growing up I could never be called a graceful child. Spending my summers and free time riding bikes and jumping into pools, I gained the reputation of being quite the klutz. My body, covered in cuts and scrapes, scabs and bruises was constant proof of my inability to be dainty and full of restraint. While I certainly did have my tomboy tendencies, I still loved playing with my Barbies and looking at the women in girlie magazines. My family, obviously aware of disparity in my character like to tease "there goes your modeling career" whenever I sustained a new injury.
No fear, dear diary, this entry is neither about my family scarring or damaging me in any way, nor a plea for sympathy or attention, merely a glimpse into the foundation of my perfectly-sound self.
Years go by and scars on legs, arms, and face eventually fade and some have disappeared. Lotions and make-up generally take care of the rest. I can't say that the chiding words of my family did not effect me; during high school I chose to stay behind the camera, refusing to have my picture taken by anyone. But now, as confindence in myself and my appearance grows (not to the point of being vain), I feel like maybe something can come from it.
By no means do I intend or even desire to be a fashion model or famous or anything related to a professional modeling career, but maybe I shouldn't be afraid of the camera anymore. I still don't feel particularly photogenic, but maybe with some instruction from some fellow Lusties (whom have offered) and practice it would be possible to dabble within this next year before starting law school. While my recent tumbles on stage in heals (and on level sidewalks in normal shoes) are proof I haven't completely outgrown my klutziness, I'm not going to let it check my many whims.