exposed.

One of my favorite classes in college, because of my professor, was Christian Life. Some of my classmates were annoyed at its lack of structure, or open-ended nature. Those were the parts of it I loved. I was challenged to move outside of routine and legalism in my approach to God, and this was an invaluable lesson. On the first day of class, we were instructed to gather in a circle, and share with our classmates our name, and also one characteristic that is true about us, that also starts with the first letter of our first name. In case we are strangers, my first name begins with an M. I chose the word messy. My roommates throughout the years, who have tended toward the type A uber-organized side of the human spectrum, can vouch for this. I didn't let my messiness move to their side of the room, but it did, on most days, fully inhabit mine. 

I think about that game still. I think because I tend to abhor circle centered activities aimed at getting to know complete strangers, but due to my love for language and words, this particular one made it to the positive pile of "getting to know you games".  So here is round two. 

Throughout my life, my friend modesty grew to know both messy and Meredith really well. When changing in my messy room, I kept my clothes on. Do not ask me how this is possible. I do not know. I am reminded of one of the classic Arrested Development characters and his "never nude" syndrome. I wore high necks and long shorts and sometimes sweatshirts in the summer. I had an inaccurate and insecure view of my own appearance, and this tragedy fed the modest beast within. I had a deep hatred for summer, as I could not layer or wear a coat or a scarf. I also hated this time of year because the majority of the population chose to take off the comfort off clothing, and get naked in front of strangers and friends, covering only the necessary parts with some insane and quite alien-like stretch sort of material.

It's possible that I came out of my mother's womb wearing a one-piece. I have not asked her, and she hasn't mentioned it, but if she did, I would nod, and say, "oh, yeah". Once I popped out, in between screams and first breaths, I likely reached over to the nurses station and wrapped the burp rag awaiting my arrival around my waist. 

As I grew up, and matured and changed, this part of me did not. Post college, and instead of Seattle (a rainy, less bathing suit friendly patch of Earth) I moved to Florida, a state that's practically circled by coastline and henceforth beach. I still remember my agonizing first beach trip there as a resident, and I can still feel and summon those feelings of anxiousness and insecurity. I have since moved back to land, and have been asked if I went to the beach a lot while I was there, or if I miss living by the ocean. I usually cite the fact that I don't miss the beach near as much as I missed the changing seasons, and that I would have gone more often if it was a little closer to where I lived. I knew when I was there that I didn't want to be missing such wondrous creation that I would not always be so close to simply because of insecurity and extreme modesty. But that's exactly what happened. 

Last summer's stint in South Korea kept me out of a bathing suit, and also out of a place of insecurity. If I was going to make it through the experience, I would have to choose confidence. Because of that, I came back to the Oklahoma landscape with much more of that confidence stuff than I had left with, and because of the soul searching that comes along with being alone in a foreign place, I also came back with a stronger sense of self.

For the first time in my life, while riding my bike to work in a sleeveless shirt in the middle of 105 degree heat, I realized that I was really enjoying the summer. And because of a conversation I had with friends that, too, broke free from the unhealthy and extreme side of modesty, I knew I couldn't, as a self-proclaimed risk taker, go back to the safety and security of a one piece. As Liz so eloquently put it, "the only people that wear one pieces, Meredith, are babies and old women". 

I walked on to the beach this summer, the same beach I walked on as a resident, with more ease than ever. I wanted to spend my time there, in the sunshine with the sound of the waves, because it's life giving, and the insecurity that used to overwhelm me was no longer an issue. And as I lounged on my chair in my very first ever two piece, surprised by my lack of concern for the enormity of the situation, I realized the confidence to cover less of myself physically was coming from the desire to cover less of myself in life.