So, People Magazine came out this week with their Sexiest Man of the Year. For those keeping score at home - and I must admit, I've discovered a stats button on this site that tells me there ARE a few of you - it's Ryan Reynolds.
Now, I appreciate beauty as much as the next person. I loved seeing the toned muscles of the World Cup dudes and Michael Phelps at the last summer Olympics. I think Angelina Jolie is stunning. I'm a big fan of Michelangelo's sculptures and Henry's Moore's too. I think Reynolds' wife, Scarlett Johannson, is luminous.
But sexy? Give me interesting over abs any day.
I was listening yesterday to Sting - while I delivered flyers. Sting is a bit of a dilemma for me. I adore the guy and his music, but I worry such adoration might put me in the camp of the middle-aged women screaming and throwing their underwear at Tom Jones or Fabio. Not that I think it would come to that. Probably.
But Sting is interesting. He continues to challenge himself artistically at a time of life when other artists fall back on old standards and cover tunes or sink into lush retirement. I love that sense of exploration and intellect. It's not something that can be captured in a magazine spread. But I find it terribly attractive.
It is also something I'm examining in my own life and art. I am not self-pitying about this in the least but I find it curious that as I age, two processes seem to be happening simultaneously: the outside me is waning while the inside me is waxing. (Who was it said youth is wasted on the young?)
Now, frankly, I'd rather be waxing more and more inside and out. And, I think there would be self-pity if I were single and wishing to be noticed. But I'm mostly okay to be largely hidden behind my Mom Cloak of Invisibility. As long as I continue to grow and explore and create on the inside.