Swinging off the steps of a boat onto the paved boardwalks of the port, the only place I have seen money float instead of sink. A pitcher of smoothie and no sunblock in my wicker bag, heart sunglasses I love that make everyone laugh and a new bikini so white it makes me look brown. Sun setting into strange clouds and an uncomfortable ‘that time of month’ bloat – but when I’m by the sea, I don’t care all that much what my body looks like. It’s how my body feels that matters to me, in the sun, hair crisp with salt and free feet a little bruised from a refusal to wear shoes. I use to look at my body in a bikini and cry, my stomach never felt flat enough, my boobs not bouncy enough – hulky thighs slinking into too-small ankles with a derriere bigger than most of my friends. Comparison truly is the thief of joy, that verb we all indulge in pulls our self-confidence straight out from under our feet, and our fuzzy, comfortable carpet of self-love turns to hot stones that go from sizzling to flaming. And we feed the flames, magazines and the internet throw coals onto to this festering fire of self-hate we all sometimes hover over. I go on and on and on about this issue, I know I do. So this is just another echo of so many blog posts past, but we all need reminding, all of us. Maturity comes from minimizing the things in life you truly care about. There is only so much time and we can’t give a crap about everything. And it is only in the last year I truly realized this, drawing a smaller circle every few months, narrowing down the sphere of things I take the time to mind. And with even bigger thighs to match my now stronger but less dainty arms – and wrinkles under my eyes – what my body parts look like in some scraps of fabric is at the very botttom of my ‘I don’t care’ list. I’m more interested in the actual swimwear than what shape my body looks in it. I’m more concerned with the fun I will have in said swimwear than what my two cheeks looks like in the bottoms. I prefer to think about my outfit as a whole than what other people might think of me in it. I prefer to jump off the deck of a boat, boobs and thighs in a gravity-defying jiggle than to sit on the side and sweat without the sea on my skin. As long as I’m healthy and can still out-run most men I know, the size of my body parts are no one’s concern, not even mine. I see so many women giving up bikinis when really, they should be giving up caring what they look like in them. I see all these 70 year old woman here in Spain, topless and in tight lycra waltzing the sands in the same way they would in the privacy of their own homes. I salute them – so, in short, get on the damn boat, jump off it’s sides, swim in the sea and forget what your butt looks like. It’s no one’s concern, not even yours.