When I sat down to write this morning, I didn't really have anything to talk about. I thought I'd just do a little laundry-list of things going on in my life, a bunch of one-sentence tic marks about things that aren't really exciting or important enough to build into a whole entry. And before I knew it, I was actually talking about something, and I thought, wow, that's what's on my mind. So I deleted all the detritus, and this is what's left:

Jazzercise is going pretty well. It takes some effort for me to actually gather myself together and go, but once I'm there, I'm surprisingly into it. It's a good sign, I think. I've been walking almost every day with Alexis, too -- just one mile, but at least it gets me up out of my chair and moving.

By contrast... not so much with the diet. Lead me not into temptation, because I have absolutely no willpower where food is concerned. Oh, well. At least if I'm doomed to stay fat, maybe the exercising will help keep me healthier. I could stand being fat, I think, if I was one of those fat women who's full of energy and life -- the kind of big that means, "I love life too much to skip dessert," as opposed to the kind of big that means, "I'm too unhappy to do anything but eat." (Which is not to say there's no middle of the road, there, but you know the sort of vibrant bigness I'm talking about, right?)

I'm not there yet. I may never be there, but that's sort of where I'm reaching, at the moment.

I think I've made steps. I had the nicest compliment from Alexis a week or so ago, and the funny thing was, I don't think she even knew how much of a compliment it was, because she's new here, and because she's so young. She was talking about something she'd done the previous day, and she'd slipped and embarrassed herself. She said something to the effect of, "Well, I can't try that in public anymore."

I said, "Oh, bah. One of the joys of being a grownup is that you don't have to care what anyone else thinks."

She sort of rolled her eyes at me and said, "Thanks for the lecture, Mom," and then she paused and said, "How do you do it? How did you get all that self-confidence?"

I literally teared up. Self-confidence? Me?

She's said other, similar things, that make me believe I really am beginning to project that image. The one that says, "I'm going to live my life the way I want, and to hell with what you think about that." The one that says, "Come talk to me; you won't be sorry." The one that says, "I know how to have fun. Do you?"

And here's the funny thing: One of the reasons I like Alexis so much -- liked her from the first moment I met her, actually -- is that she has that same aura. She's a little more sassy and I'm a little more playful, I think, but it's that same energy. And funniest of all: we're both actually fairly insecure and desperate for people to like us. A mask of vitality, of attitude, of independence and self-confidence helps keep the wolves at bay.

But you know, the more I'm forced to examine it, the more the mask becomes real. And I think that's true for a lot of things in life. I used to hate my eyes. I thought they were a sad, pale shade of blue, and I desperately wanted green eyes. And then, in the space of a few years, I got a handful of compliments about them. Not a lot, but they came from people who had no reason to offer them. Near-strangers, even. Just out of the blue: "Wow, you have really pretty eyes." And suddenly, I didn't hate my eyes anymore.

I used to be very shy. Introverted, introspective, all those words that meant I wanted to just hide in a corner whenever I was around people I didn't already know. Then I went on a job interview and the manager who interviewed me told me that I was gregarious. Gregarious. Me. I laughed about it, but I thought about it, and it was true: In a business situation, where I knew exactly what my role was, I was comfortable enough to talk and laugh. And in being forced to think about it, my social shyness... receded. I can't say it's gone, but it's improved.

So maybe Alexis and I will be good for each other, that way. We have our masks, but as we practice them, as we examine them and craft them and embrace them... as they become weapons rather than shields, the stages on which we play instead of the curtains we hide behind... The feeling will sink in a little deeper, and deeper, and it'll become true. We'll actually be self-confident, independent, and vibrant. And we will actually believe it when we say: Yeah, we're big girls. You know why? Because we are too smart, too active, too much fun, and simply too sexy to fit into someone else's narrow definition of beautiful.

As soon as I post this, I'll be just a little bit closer to that goal.

--Liz