Wrinkles and Lovehandles

I am already completely obsessed with the wrinkles on my forehead. Surely they are barely visible to everyone else, but I have maintained the trendy bangs haircut about a year after it quit being trendy because I am so paranoid about it.

There are other things too. I think no matter how "skinny" my jeans are, they always look sloppy when I tuck them into my boots, rather than "put together." I have a closet full of clothes that I believe make me feel frumpy. I am six inches taller than all my friends and catch myself slouching in pictures to be their height.

But when I am doing yoga - I feel beautiful.

I read an article in Glamour asking women when they felt the sexiest. When all the stars aligned and everything just felt right and confident. For me, the time is the 75 minutes I am in Yoga class. I can feel breath running through my body and all my muscles are alive and working. When I kick back my foot into the palm of my hand and lean forward into Cosmic Dancer, balancing on one leg and aligning my foot above the top of my ponytail in the mirror as sweat rolls of the tip of my nose, I am gorgeous.

I wish I could bottle up that feeling and take it with me when I leave the studio. When I have trouble pulling my jeans on in the morning - to know how powerful my legs are. Or when my arms look chubby in a tank top - to remember how each one can support me in Side Plank. But even though I can't recreate that feeling outside the studio, I still carry it with me, a secretive strength in the back of my mind.