One of my coworkers took a look at me today and was like “you’re losing weight.”
I was like, “thanks for noticing.” In fact, I’m not losing weight, but I am losing width–the exercise is making a difference. Sporadic small bits of encouragement keep me motivated, and get me thinking, “Hey, if I actually put more energy into this health initiative of mine, I might get more noticeable results.”
I have been a bit of a slacker since my delicious trip to France, but it’s nice to be reminded that change is possible, incremental, and there will be some results. Occasionally, the casual bystander will gaze at you and remark upon a change you’ve been trying to enact.
In a similar, not quite success but better than the alternative, vein–I’m getting a lot of semi positive rejection notices. The tone of the rejections is changing, for example this closing: “However, we are intrigued and would be interested in seeing more of your work in the future. Onward with the battle!”
So I’m going to put this development also in my small signs of progress column. And pick up that motto: Onward with the battle!
I have always disdained those who love their appearance too much, those who cultivate a beautiful body, which they use as a bargaining tool. My revulsion with the beauty cult started in seventh grade when a cluster of my female acquaintances, with perfectly nice 13-year-old bodies, shared that they were dieting as I surveyed their bare lunch trays, with a sprinkling of red apples and low-fat yogurts, as we sat in our sunny cafeteria. These were the popular girls. They were already richer and better dressed than I. I remember thinking that they were totally ridiculous for dieting when there was nothing wrong with their bodies. How neurotic. How weird.
My disavowal of body-focused inwardness (of the female variety) has been in many ways quite useful and in many ways compromising.
I have striven to accept myself. I have refused to buy into the culture of anorexia and self denial.
I have refused to pass the cake slice at parties, as so many of my friend did. I ate the cake.
But after four decades of single minded individualism, coupled with a pleasure-seeking, celebratory disposition that loves food, drink, and fun, I’ve ended up not fitting in my pants.
So I’ve decided to be more healthful, and this means doing things like joining meyouhealth.com, my employer’s wellness challenge, and (they could really use some re-branding) Weight Watchers–I mean after all, watching my weight go up is what got me here in the first place.
I’ve been trying to understand my aversion to nutritional self control, and I’ve finally figured out two really helpful things thanks to my friend Jessica:
1) I’m not being punished, I’m being healthful and taking care of myself.
2) Being careful with your health does not equal being shallow.
Voila! Let’s hope this new perspective translates to action. It’s certainly helping my attitude (constantly wondering, “why am i being punished?” makes it hard not to eat chocolate.)
I don’t suppose I should feel guilty for spending most of this week napping. I recommend it for those who aren’t sure what to do with themselves. Napping is 1) enjoyable 2) nourishing to the imagination 3) restful 4) relaxing 5) easy to justify and 6) a better alternative to snacking.
Having built up my napping reserve, I’m headed into the new year with a slightly wonky back, wearing a shiny layer of sparkly makeup and silver hoop earrings, holding my sweetie, and possessed of a great appetite for champagne, or reasonably tasty methode champegnoise.
I’m never sure what to think of New Year’s Eve. It seems like a booby trapped occasion, much like the equally dubious Valentine’s Day. At least New Year’s seems less commercially contrived in its origins.
As I consider my options in the face of the new year, I try to resist the tide of doubt that washes of over me whenever I’m in life evaluation mode. Instead of wallowing in the contemplation of things left undone, incomplete, or inadequate (a tempting option), I’m opting to embrace small joys and pleasures. The pleasure of my friends’ company. The joys of waffles with strawberries and syrup. The sweetness of falling asleep and waking up next to someone I love.
I’m going to cling to what I know nourishes me, instead of being tempted by the thoughts that will tear me down, one nudging small sadness at a time. So here’s to resisting the cold tide and choosing to swim in a warmer body of water: May your thoughts, wishes and dreams bring you joy. Happy New Year.
I was looking over a bistrot menu and it was in french, and it was full of french menu items. I wasn’t in France. I was in Quebec, where they have genteel, continental ways.
The citizens are slightly more stylish than those of the average american city. Everyone is riding bikes.
I really like it here. (It’s easy to like in September.) It reminds me a bit of France, although it’s clearly not France. It’s got enough french elements to provoke a sense of homeyness.
And as I sat at the restaurant, I realized that I had managed to commune with aspects of french culture without taking a plane.
What a treat.
It reminds me that when I was a little girl and found out about Quebec, it seemed like the perfect solution to my cultural quandaries. I was convinced at the age of 8 that I would end up marrying a french-canadian.