(So is a rooftop pool.)
I’m about to put on a bikini top and head up to my roof to work on my tan. No big deal.
That it’s not a big deal any more is kind of a big deal.
Five out of the seven years I lived in DC, I lived in a building that had a rooftop pool. I’ve usually ended up living in buildings that had lots of people my own age, so there were always hordes of pretty girls with great bodies on the roof. If I headed up there with a friend, I felt like the fat friend. If I went up there alone, I felt like the fat loser who had no friends. So I didn’t go up there very often, because I didn’t want to feel like the beached whale up there.
And I love the sun. If I didn’t love NYC so much, I would live on a beach. I absolutely plan on having a summer home one day if I can afford it.
So I didn’t do something I enjoyed because I wasn’t confident enough in myself. Now I’m living in NYC where rooftop pools are much fewer and far between than they were in DC and regretting that I let my lack of confidence stand in the way of doing something I enjoyed.
If you’re unhappy with how you look, please don’t do what I did. Please don’t let it get in the way of doing something you enjoy.