Healthy Living

I was chatting away at a party recently, and was shocked to find myself almost apologizing for the fact that my husband and I will probably live in the suburbs when we relocate to a different part of the country later this year. It was one of those out-of-body moments when it felt like an alien had seized control of my vocal chords.

Why was I apologizing? Suburbs or not, being able to live within 10 minutes of a coastal beach is a dream of ours, and yet here I was, speaking as if I was about to do something utterly shameful.

The next morning, as I privately pondered my many oddities, I realized I'd been apologizing for how living in the suburbs might look to other people. As someone who grew up in New York City, I'm apparently still the victim of my own (admittedly unfounded) preconceptions about the suburbs being a place where I'd have to transform into a Stepford Wife.

The whole event got me thinking about how we, as women, are taught to value appearance -- sometimes to the exclusion of authentic experience, even happiness. A lot of time and effort is spent trying to make our marriages, families, jobs, kids, finances -- you name it -- look a certain way to other people.

I've always thought of life as an adventure, so, in theory at least, it seems to me that being seen with bed-head or having an emotional meltdown in public isn't so bad if it means you're living a full life. Truthfully, though, it's hard (at least for me) to really, honestly not care what others think, which often translates into -- for lack of a less nauseating phrase -- maintaining appearances. The intellectual side of my brain judges this as a sad waste of time, while the social side says it's fine to save the truth for the small group of people I trust.

What are your experiences with this? Is it okay to admit that each of our lives is a complete and utter mess at times?