“It’s beautiful outside today. I’ll go on a walk,” I think in a burst of seasonal motivation. Intending to soak up natural vitamin D, I don a short-sleeved shirt and cropped workout pants, along with tennis shoes wide enough to accommodate my bunion.

​Heading out the front door, I inhale the fresh air deeply and stretch my arms out wide. Ahhhh! Just then, a sudden tickle in my uvula (did I inhale a gnat or pollen spore?) triggers a coughing fit, and I retreat into the house for water.

​This minor setback doesn’t deter me. Once composed, I embark on my journey again, feeling the irrational optimism that accompanies spring. Invigorated after a long Rhode Island winter, I wear a tiny grin as I prance toward town in the sunshine.

​I ignore the nagging pains emanating from my body. The bump of arthritis where the metatarsal bones of my right foot meet. The bunion on my left toe. The old meniscus tear in my knee, the arthritis in my lower back and hips, the disk degeneration in my neck and the tendinitis in my shoulder.

​Nothing another shot of cortisone can’t handle, I tell myself. I focus on a vision of a relatively fit, mature — no, seasoned — military spouse in the prime of her life. Well, maybe not the prime, I admit, but arguably on the fringes at least. A military spouse who has lived in two foreign countries and six states, raised three children during her husband’s 28 years of active duty service, shouldered long deployments and prioritized her family over her own interests.

​Not too shabby, I mutter, feeling a rare sense of self-pride.

​I turn the corner onto the main street of town, where I intend to stop by the local market for a healthy lunch — perhaps a salmon fillet, a trendy salad and fresh berries? As I pass a storefront with large windows, I glance to my right, hoping to catch a glimpse of this confident, positive version of myself, strutting along on a beautiful day.

​Quite suddenly, the bees stop buzzing. The gulls cease their chatter. The sun ducks behind a cloud. The breeze takes on a harsh chill. In the store window, I see my reflection and stop in my tracks.

​“Is that me?” I gasp as reality worms its way into my perfect delusion. Shocked at the image before me, I wipe away the unrealistic facade I’d had in my mind just seconds before.

​The attractive curves I’d envisioned were actually lumps, much lower on my torso than I’d thought and masked by the overall expansion of my midsection, such that the lumps have merged into one unflattering heap. Despite my twice weekly Boot Camp classes, I see no muscle definition. Instead, squishy pooches protrude over the elastic waistband of my workout pants, around my granny-panty lines and on either side of my hefty bra strap.

​My arms, which had not seen the light of day since September of last year, are pale, flaky wings, just like the old lunch ladies in my youth. My neck seems to have completely disappeared, and my round face is now attached to my body by a sloping, crepey wattle devoid of any jawline. My teeth could use a whitening, my top lip is as creased as a chain-smoker’s, and the dark circles under my baggy eyes make me look like I’ve gone a few rounds with Mike Tyson. My imagined long, flowing hair appears frazzled and crispy, and an inch of gray roots reveals what I should have realized all along …

​I’m not the person I was before.

​To make matters worse, the monumental blow to my ego triggers a hot flash. Sporting a sweat mustache, I abandon my outing and plod back home to microwave a can of soup.

​While slurping my lunch, a family photo on our kitchen windowsill snaps me out of my funk. I realize that they see me exactly as I envision myself — strong, capable, nurturing and unselfish. No matter what is reflected in a mirror, my goal shouldn’t be perpetual beauty, but that I am beautiful to the people in my life that matter to me the most.

Read more at themeatandpotatoesoflife.com and in Lisa’s book, “The Meat and Potatoes of Life: My True Lit Com.” Email: meatandpotatoesoflife@gmail.com