I don’t care for those contests that flood Instagram. You know the ones I’m talking about. They entice people with some awesome gift and all you have to do is follow some long ass loop, liking their posts and adding them to your feed. You’re sent on never ending rabbit trails, hoping you’re the one person out of hundreds that will end up winning. But, at the end of the day, their Follower count is tremendously high and all you end up with is an hour waisted going from one account to the next and jamming up your feed with, well…spam.
But then, I met a rockabilly model who is completely awesome. The company she supports came out with a very exciting contest. The kind of contest that would make deep seeded dreams come true. Don’t misunderstand, I’m not so delusional, thinking I’m going to win. I’m a born realist. However, I did enter.
We had to submit two photos And tell why we would like to win. As soon as I submitted my entry, I immediately regretted my photo selection and I believe my answer to the “why do you want to win?” Question was a tad longer and more detailed than they were wanting. Oh well. I decided to blog my entry. Below is what I submitted:
I am almost 40 years old. Forty. I have never thought of myself as beautiful. Pretty, perhaps. On good days. I have always wanted to be a model. Isn’t that always the story with ugly ducklings? I laugh at the thought now. When I was younger, before I realized how truly unremarkable I was, my mother enrolled my sister and I into “Barbazon. School of Modeling”. Do you remember Barbazon? Am I “dating” myself with that? I believe I was ten years old, perhaps younger. Even then I knew it was nothing more than a scam. A way to leach money off of hopeful families who dreamed of something big and bright for their spoiled children. But, I loved it. I was excited. For the first and only time in my life I felt like I could be that person. The beautiful girl in magazines and on the television who other girls wished they could be. But, we didn’t have the money. my mother, divorced and trying her best to raise two daughters on Welfare barley had the money to finish the program.
So, who am I and why do I want to “win”??
I’m just a mom. A mom who tries to teacher her daughter to not only dream, but to take the chance. To not only dream what her life would be, but to live it.
My husband was a founding member of the band, Life House. To this day, I still have yet to listen to his work from that time in his life. He is the most brilliant musician I have ever heard, the most dedicated and beyond talented. But, he gave all that up for us. For life, family and reality. As much as I admire his life, I morn for what it was, for what it could have been. Our children have no idea who their daddy was. What he gave up. I hope they never know. Our daughter, Ava, who is eight was born on our first wedding anniversary and our son, Baxter, was born 16 months after.
I have gone around and around about whether or not I should enter. To most, it seems like a no-brainer. Why wouldn’t you enter? But, I am still the girl who dose not look at her reflection in the mirror, the girl who hadn’t had her first kiss until she was twenty years old. The fat friend. I’m doing this for me. For my babies. To show them that if they truly want something from life, then to screw it. Do what they can do to achieve their dreams. And honestly, if it doesn’t work out, then to fuck-it. They tried. And trying is a thousand times better than giving up before even starting.
How Vast is the Daffodil? 