Sometimes I Suck At Being A Girl

There they are!  Those beautiful women who make it look so effortless.  Their hair is perfect.  Their outfits are from stores, I clearly don't shop in.  They know how to use accessories. They rock their heels like it's their job.  Then, please scan to the left and envision yours truly.  
My legs do not go on for days.  My hair is a disaster most of the time.  Trying to wear make up is like me trying to paint the Mona Lisa, I usually don't know where to start.  Heels make me want to cry.   It's as if I missed the day they taught how to be a girl.  
This is not a criticism for those beautiful people, it's more of an observation about myself.  The most comfortable I feel in my own skin is when I'm in some jeans (not skinny jeans) and rocking a concert t-shirt and a pair of chucks.  Being almost 40,  I'm coming to realize that my "I can hang with the boys" look is not as desirable for me anymore.  
I want to look clean and sophisticated without looking like I tried too hard.  There was a woman who breezed through the mall last month who is my new "look idol."  She must have been in her 60s, and she was gorgeous!  She was sophisticated, simple, and confidence oozed out of her.  Maybe that's just it, the confidence accessory.
There have been moments that confidence sat on my shoulders like a proud mountain cat.  Real confidence tends to ebb and flow in any human because situations change and put us in a different mental space.  My new goal is finding that cat and letting her be with me each and every day.  It's time for me to purr through my daily life knowing that what I've accomplished is enough.  
My husband brings out that inner cat.  He sees the "me" I want to be.  I don't know how he does it, but he looks at me like I'm a shiny penny most of the time.  For that I will always be grateful.  I'm a fortunate person to have found someone like him so early in my life.
Wanting to be more accomplished and more sophisticated comes from a deeper, personal place.  It's not built of envy.  It's not built of regret.  It's built more of the stuff that is driving at the innermost workings of me.  It's a desire to know what I'm truly capable of.  There has not been a pinnacle yet.  
She's inside trying to claw her way to the surface.  She's that girl who wanted to be a profiler at the age of 18.  She's the girl that was fearless.  She's the girl that wasn't scared to speak her mind and confront someone who was being passive aggressive.  She's the girl that got buried beneath years of being sweet, little mommy.  She's the girl who would get in a car and drive, not knowing the exact destination though a concert was probably it.  She's the girl I'm searching for, but in a much more realistic and grown up version.   
My make up will never be perfect.  My outfits will not likely be like the cover of Cosmo.  My feet will likely be sporting some chucks.  My legs will forever remain short.  What will change is the way I carry myself.  That inner cat is going to help me reach some goals I never thought possible.  Perhaps my 40s will be my best years to date.