by Kathy Philpott

Created on: May 12, 2009   Last Updated: May 14, 2009

The mysteries in the Universe give me pause. Spring follows on the scuffed footprints of winter. Blue skies lie just beneath the gray clouds. Daylight follows the darkness of night. God sits in His heaven and I still look horrible in a bathing suit.

How can this be? I exercise on a regular basis. I eat right. I do the things that are supposed to create physical well being, but I still feel embarrassed about the way I look in a swim suit.

My quest for the right swim suit has taken me all over the country. While in Palm Springs one summer, I bought a bathing suit from a trendy little boutique. Attached at the waist of this suit was a short pleated skirt. I was hoping it hid my saggy caboose. This suit was a less than flattering combination reminiscent of Ester Williams and Julius Caesar. I wore it twice. Swimming in it made me feel as though I had worn a formal evening gown to a nudist camp swim meet.

In Key West, I was forced to buy a swim suit because my suitcase from the flight had been lost. My purchase of a basic black, one-piece tank suit seemed a safe choice at the time. Just the name of this suit should have tipped me in another direction. A tank suit does not evoke images of beauty. Why not just invent the Humvee Suit? Yes, Ladies and Gentlemen, its a suit brought to you by the retailers of the Gulf War.

With New Age introspection, I look to my childhood for the keys to unlock this mystery. I see myself at ten years old, wearing a pajama top over my new Mickey Mouse bathing suit. I am a red head with fair skin and those were the days before sun screen. My Mother explained that the pajama top was the only way she could be sure I would not get sunburned while swimming. This was not only a poor fashion choice; it also served to ward off unwanted advances from normal children my own age.

The older I get, the more I realize how vain I am. I have wasted precious time in pursuit of imagined perfection as defined by a less than fair minority. I have often said no to a joy-filled day of swimming because of my imagined discomfort.

It boils down to the same ingredient that I continue to discover lacking in other aspects of my personal journey. The ingredient is belief. When my belief in me is strong, I am beautiful. I could weigh four hundred pounds and have two heads, but still be beautiful. I may not be attractive to people on this planet, but beautiful all the same.

This summer I am determined to bravely wear my new lime green swim suit with joyous abandon. I will swim realizing that today is the only day I can be sure of.

Join me. We can swim and be beautiful together.

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