Yesterday I ran a mile.  Today I spent a few hours piddling around with various martial arts techniques and exercises.  And I do mean piddling.  There was very little structure to what I did today.  But I was doing something, and that is what is important.

I've been trying to take better care of myself lately, and not just by reading and exercising.  I've been watching my eating habits.  I've been doing more in the skin care department -- exfoliating, dealing with blemishes, moisturizing.  Trimming my hair more regularly.  Shaving.  I'm even dressing more trimly when I go out in public.  More girly than my usual T-shirt and jeans ensemble.

Interestingly, I feel like, all this time I am becoming more feminine, I am also becoming more masculine.  In my mind, I see myself beating the shit out of random people, and my workouts reflect this desire.  My interest in the violent competitiveness of football and martial arts has been renewed.  Intensified, even.  I feel adrenaline rushes as strong as ever.

Funnily enough, my public vs. private persona seems to be reversing.  Growing up, I let my masculine side show more in public: athletic, nerdy, tom boy.  Now my feminine side is coming out more.  But I don't want to be drama queen, dumb blonde type of feminine.  No.  I want a perfect blend of my two halves: Beautiful, but strong.  Small, yet commanding.  Understanding and empathetic, but still rational and big-picture-oriented.  Indifferent to makeup, yet pretty enough not to need it.  An attractive girl with a sharp mind and a sharp wit.  It seems funny, but that's the type of woman I want to be.

And for the first time, I am accepting the fact that I am becoming a woman.

Occasionally there are interactions that prompt me to wonder what the hell the other person thinks of me at that given moment.  When I went to my eye appointment last week, I was wearing a long-sleeved, collared shirt, a good pair of jeans, and my leather jacket.  Today the bitter cold forced me to don my heavy Packers coat, but underneath was the semi-dressy, V-neck sweater that my mom gave me for Christmas, along with good jeans and clean, white tennis shoes.  Casual outfits, but still very trim and sharp.  I find myself enjoying dressing that way more and more lately.  It's a nice change from my usual t-shirts and beat-up sneakers, yet still comfortable.  Anyways.

The young lady in the office was entering my contact prescription information into the system and processing the charges.  Going on appearances, I imagine that she and I are roughly the same age.  She's also fairly new to the vision center, because she's constantly having to ask one of the older ladies for assistance.  The question of what I do for a living came up, I told her, and noticed (feeling simultaneously proud and embarrassed) the surprise on her face.  When we were done, she handed me my contacts and said timidly, "Thank you for your patience."  Damn, I thought, I didn't mean to intimidate her.

So I head out to my truck, and as I start the engine, Godsmack comes blaring over the KC rock station I enjoy listening to.  I'm reaching for the ice scraper to do a little more cleaning on my windshield when I see the same girl outside my car.  I shut off the stereo and open the door.  She had forgotten to hand me the rebate information for my contacts and chased me out into the parking lot.  As she explains it to me, there's a look of mild confusion on her face.  I have a feeling that the heavy bassline filling my vehicle threw a bit of a wrench in her initial impression of me.

I have to confess, I find moments like these both amusing and satisfying.  You might say that defying stereotypes has become a bit of a hobby of mine.  It's not something that I ever set out to do intentionally.  I just do the kind of shit that I enjoy, and if they happen to "clash" with one another, then so be it.  By conventional expectations, the same person isn't expected to be a professional, a rock fan, a martial artist, an academic, a lover of tattoos, and a baseball nut.  I'm sure that my twisted sense of humor doesn't really help matters.  Still, I could never understand why this is the expectation, because it all works just fine in my life.