Bronze: (v) to make a person or part of the body suntanned.
I’ve often missed out on conventional wisdom because I could not afford to go to the convention.
On one such occasion, I scheduled our music group to perform in Miami, Florida, in the month of July.
Nobody does that.
Miami becomes a glowing hot rock, to be avoided by any living creature which does not wish to swelter. But our group wasn’t that popular–we were certainly never going to be able to be in Miami in January.
So we went in July.
It was very reasonably priced (since nobody was there) and really no hotter than the rest of the country, which was also experiencing summer.
But my achievement during those two weeks was something I had never experienced before and haven’t since. For you see, I worked up the courage to put on a pair of shorts, go shirtless, and walk around the beach until my skin turned bronze.
God, I loved it.
At night, I stood in front of the mirror and stared at my brown hide, realizing that I had never before enjoyed my body–because it was the color of pewter.
I was bronzed.
I wasn’t intimidated to step along the sidewalks near the ocean in my cutoff blue jeans and just act like I was one of the locals.
In the midst of those two weeks, a friend of mine debuted her new book and invited me to come to Nashville, Tennessee, for the signing. When I arrived I was the talk of the town.
“Where’d you get that tan?”
“Must be nice to lay on the beach all day long…”
Never in my life had I felt physically valuable to the world around me.
- Creatively–I hope so.
But for the first time, my “bronze” covered up some of my obesity, puffiness and, shall we say, “whitey-white-white.”
Now, I know you’re not supposed to get too much sun. I know there’s a danger of cancer.
But I am so grateful that on at least one occasion in my life, I got to walk around, for a little while… as a bronze Greek god.