Just Kiss the Fish

There are moments in life when nature presents us with something so beautiful, so delicate and so perfectly timed that we simply have to stop and appreciate it.

And then there are two ridiculously colourful fish apparently having a snog.

Obviously, this required my immediate attention.

I have questions.

Is this romance? A territorial dispute? Has one of them just whispered, “Your scales look lovely today”? Or are we witnessing the aquatic equivalent of two women meeting in a supermarket aisle, both trying to move out of each other’s way, repeatedly choosing the same direction and eventually accepting that this is simply where we live now?

I prefer romance.

Because look at them. There is absolutely no subtlety here. Turquoise. Orange. Red. Yellow. Fins everywhere. They haven’t toned themselves down for anybody.

And perhaps that’s why this photograph made me smile.

Somewhere along the way, we learn to tone ourselves down

We women are surprisingly good at it.

We worry whether we’re too loud, too quiet, too emotional, too confident, too old for something, too young for something else, too fat, too thin, too dressed up or—particularly relevant around here—not dressed at all.

We become experts in checking ourselves through other people’s eyes.

Do I look all right?

Should I say that?

Can I wear this?

Will somebody judge me?

Meanwhile, Fish Number One has turned up dressed like an explosion in a paint factory and is apparently kissing Fish Number Two without the slightest concern about what Susan from accounts might think.

Frankly, I respect the confidence.

And yes, I realise I have now taken relationship advice from a fish.

My week is going brilliantly.

Perhaps being ourselves should be this uncomplicated

That’s one of the things I love about naturism.

Eventually, the performance starts disappearing.

Not instantly. We still bring all our insecurities with us the first time we take our clothes off.

Sadly, removing our knickers does not automatically remove twenty years of worrying about our thighs. It would be extremely convenient if it did.

But something changes when we’re surrounded by ordinary bodies and ordinary people simply getting on with life.

We realise there was never one correct way to look.

There are scars, stretch marks, wrinkles, wobbly bits, strong bits, soft bits and bodies that have carried us through completely different stories.

And gradually we stop asking whether we look acceptable and start remembering that we already are.

Perhaps that’s the real freedom in being comfortable in our own skin. Not believing we’re perfect, but becoming less interested in whether somebody else thinks we should be.

Be the ridiculously colourful fish

So this is today’s completely unqualified Eira life advice.

Wear the colour.

Laugh loudly.

Get in the photograph.

Take your clothes off when you want to.

Stop apologising for taking up space.

Tell somebody you love them.

And if the opportunity presents itself, kiss the fish.

Actually, no.

Do not kiss an actual fish.

Good grief. I can already see the safeguarding paperwork.

You know what I mean.

Life is remarkably short, and we’ve already spent enough of it worrying whether we’re doing womanhood correctly.

Perhaps today we could simply be a little more like these two: gloriously colourful, completely themselves and apparently far too busy having a lovely time to wonder who’s watching.

So, us women: what is one thing you’ve stopped apologising for as you’ve grown more comfortable being yourself?