Mirror mirror

I've spent much time recently pondering the vagaries of self image and the connection between self image and self worth. In our body-obsessed culture, it is hard to escape the media attention placed on the perfect body.  Despite the fact that few people are genetically blessed to have the capacity to achieve what our society defines as a "perfect" body; those of us that hold a full time job simply don't have the time to hone our outer vessels into something society accepts as perfect.

In fact, the preferred body shape for women has not always been slim and big breasted.  The ideal women in the 1800s was fuller figured while in the 1920s women bound their breasts to achieve what I can only term a boyish figure.

Personally, I have struggled to obtain a 'perfect' body since my early teens.  I have been known to skip dessert, whine over my muffin top and refuse to wear a two-piece in summer.  I frequently feel inferior around my fellow women who always appear to me as skinnier, more toned, less hairy and generally better looking than I could ever dream to be.   However, I consider myself lucky to not have succumbed to the pressure to achieve such an elusive goal through eating disorders or obsessive exercise (perhaps I lack the necessary dedication to the cause or perhaps I just like food too much and am not willing to give up chocolate pudding in order to have a flat stomach).

Styling advice abounds on how to dress according to your body shape.  Some people, like the infamous Trinny and Susannah, have made this pursuit their profession and have made shapewear a household term.  I recall one bridesmaid experience where a member of the bridal party was aghast that I would attend the wedding day without tummy trimming underwear, especially when I had carried two children.  Amazed by this, I did a quick survey of the rest of the bridal party and some of the guests at the wedding and found that I truly was a freak.  So much for donning sexy lacy underwear for a special occasion!  I was shocked that these women, almost all of whom were younger than me and not mothers would feel the need to squeeze themselves into uncomfortable, restrictive and, to my mind, unflattering underwear in order to look a little more toned in their frock.

It's possibly no surprise to hear my reaction to a sub-30 year old friend who recently had botox on her forehead and dermal filler for her lips.  I was floored.  Not only did it look like she had been subjected to an encounter with a hive of angry bees, she'd paid $700 for the privilege of spending a weekend with an ice pack on her lips.  To top it off, she's now committed to going every quarter for repeat treatments.  I look at that and equate the money she's spending to have a smooth forehead and fuller lips with an annual holiday and I know which one I would choose!

But on a grander scale, I am saddened to think that a woman in her 20s is so upset with the way she looks (and how she is perceived by those around her) that she willingly injects neurotoxins into her body.  And she's not the only one.  Botox is increasingly popular with 1.5 million injections delivered to Australians in 2010.  We spend billions every year on treatments to seemingly halt the aging process.  It's the plastic fantastic phase.

I am relieved to know that there is an upsurgence against the body obsession with some governments banning advertising (and airbrushing) that portrays unhealthy bodies and rare journalists reporting on the perceived strength of media to manipulate women and the torture they put their bodies under. 

I have, over the last few decades, come to realise how much more important my actions are than how I look.  I like the reflection in the mirror more on the days where I have done something for myself or for someone I love, regardless of the wrinkles and imperfections.  My children care not for my orange peel thighs but love that I will play with them on the swings or attempt to amuse them with handstands and failed attempts at round-offs.  My friends don't know if I move from a size 8 to a size 10 but appear to like that I deliver dessert when I visit.  And I am guessing my husband prefers black lace over nude shapewear too, even if there is bulging of skin here and there.

I feel better on the days where I exercise.  The endorphins help me ward of stress from work and living away from my family during the week and I get some fresh air and outdoor time which I love.  Ideally my exercise would be in the sunshine but even a walk in the rain in the dark of pre-dawn sets me up for a happier day than I would have ordinarily had.

For me, it has taken a long time to get to this point.  I have put in a lot of work to be able to turn against the media pressure to look a certain way.  Some days I still fail. 

Perhaps I am a freak but I like to think that women are smarter than society gives them credit for.  I'd like to think that women would make a conscious decision to live a healthy life, an authentic life.  One where they are comfortable in their own skin.  A life where they eat food, mostly plants, not too much (Michael Pollan); exercise and get enough rest.  But, to butcher the lyrics of Carly Rae Jepson, call me crazy.

Natural building products

I've mentioned this before but it continually amazes me how hard it is to source natural building products.  The latest is natural paint.  We have tried making our own casein paint with limited success.  The volumes needed, however, have forced us to seek alternatives.

It's relatively easy to find truly natural, zero VOC (volatile organic compound) paint in the UK.  There's  Earth Born, Bioshield and Ecotec Natural Paint.  But we struggled to find suppliers of these paints in Australia and the weight (and wait) involved in shipping from Europe made them an inviable option.

There's the less natural option of  Volvox that is available in Oz but we were firm on the need for paint with no VOCs so kept looking.

There is method behind the madness.  The high vapor pressure of volatile organic compounds (VOCs) is caused by a low boiling point, which means that large numbers of molecules evaporate and are discharged into the air at ordinary room temperatures.  One VOC in paint is formaldehyde which is colourless but has a pungent, irritating odour and is a known carcinogen (i.e. it causes cancer).  Now, I am not one to look kindly on deliberately installing products in my home that are likely to cause my family ill health.  Ergo, the need to find paint with no VOCs.

So, we continued on our quest and eventually contacted the lovely staff, Hartmut and Elke, from the Natural Paint Company, based in Port Macquarie New South Wales, and managed to purchase some brilliant natural paint and vega primer from them.

The paint that we purchased is casein marble paint, such as was used by the ancient Egyptians in 1300BC.

The vega undercoat dries clear.

The casein marble paint goes on clear

and dries white.

Best of all, there is no smell. 

The paint comes in powder form and is mixed with a drill bit attachment.  The best bit about the paint is that we made an oil-based version for use in the bathroom and on the roof in the kitchen as it is much more water resistant.  To ensure the paint is still white once the oil has been added (we used tung oil but for a cheaper option safflower oil can be used) we purchased some titanium white pigment to include in the oil paint.  For the walls and roof in the bathroom we used about 30% oil.  We plan to make a richer oil-based paint for the windows.

Busyness

I've already spoken of switched on living and reflective practices that, I believe, are fundamental to living a full life.  I've touched on authenticity and living organically; true to yourself and your ideals.  An overlay on all of this is the pressure to be busy.  I see so many people that have back-to-back activites - Monday is netball, on Tuesday there's gym, Wednesday is social night, Thursday partner night and Friday the kids get taken to McDonalds and the weekend in punctuated with appointments and gatherings.  I see people rushing through life - doing what I can only describe as "stuff".  The time they spend bustling around in the morning and evening after work does not seem to generate anything.  It's just activity (see the eloquent writing of Tim Kreider). 

There are so many people rushing around all the time .  And, most of the time, I am one of them.  My days in Melbourne are punctuated with long hours in the office, catch ups with much-neglected friends and desperate attempts to squeeze in some form of physical activity.  In amongst all that I try to make meals for the family for the following week, plan further education for myself and the kids and collect supplies for the build.  Weekends are spent building the house, catching up on washing and cleaning at home, paying bills and caring for children. 

I can cope with this current level of busyness as, I hope, it's a short-term gig for us.  I took a job in Melbourne to pay for the build; so I can see The Gentleman Builder's childhood dream come true; so I can provide a better life for my gorgeous children and so I can spend some time with my terminally ill father, my family and my friends that I haven't spent much time with since moving to Gippsland 5 years ago.  I have a brilliant job that I really love and get to work with some exceptionally talented, interesting and stimulating people.

But I freely admit this is not the end for me.  My plans do not live a life where I am away from my family.  My goal is to settle into country living.  Not the idealised country life where everything is scones and leisurely walks (though I do plan to include those things in abundance) but the reality of country life; where I will get stuck into the seasonality of life.  A life where we will fertilise and plant furiously in the spring to be able to harvest in the autumn.  Where activity comes in bursts interspersed with moments, days I hope, of nothingness.  Where, should the weather be fine and the wind be weak, I could choose a good book from the shelf and settle into the hammock to soak up some vitamin D and get lost in another world.  I dream of a life where I could decide to pick up the camera and take photos all day.  I envisage our block set up with sheep, goats, pigs, chooks, geese and ducks; where the flowers grow in abundace and I spend many long hours enjoying the view.  I hope for a life that is reflective, honest and peaceful.  A life that is overflowing with fresh organic produce for long lunches and dinners with friends that feed both the stomach and the soul. 

I dream of, even crave, times of hard work - I am not averse to work; even in abundance.  But I believe work should be followed by rest.  Time to relect on life.  Time to share thoughts and ideas with others; time to soak up sunshine; time to let the wind blow through your hair and take your troubles away; time to just be.