New Ideas

 I love the rituals of the seasons. I throw myself into pumpkins and cinnamon and knee high brown boots and orange scarves in the fall; the day after Thanksgiving I wrap my rooms in garlands and lights and ornaments and nutcrackers. In the summer I love to wear big floppy hats and gauzy swim cover ups and flip flops while I picnic on a beach.

And in the week after Christmas, I dream, I vision, I plot, I ponder.

This year, the heavy emphasis is on plot. I'm writing 1000 words a day. I've already started, because the stories that were inside me when I was born have been developing my whole life, and at long last, I'm not afraid to tell them. I'm not afraid of the critics, I'm not afraid that I'm stupid, I'm not afraid that what I say won't be read by anyone.

I'm not afraid.

This year, I'm writing my book. I'm on my way, sure of it, grateful. The words are spilling out of me. I love my characters, even my antagonist, who I once thought only filled with hate.

I am becoming (thanks, Michelle Obama) the person I was always supposed to be. At 51, it's better late than never, but I feel a young woman's excitement. I'm standing up a little taller, telling my friends, giggling and giddy. I'm a writer. Now I'm a writer for real, because I'm writing. I cannot control the future and I cannot force a publisher to like what I say, but I know this: I'm writing it anyway. I am convinced that I have something to say that the world needs to hear, and that the world will want to share. That is enough.

***

One thing that I am not doing this year is plotting my weight, my wardrobe, my clothing size. I have no plans to tone my arms, to reduce my belly fat, or to eat ten fruits and vegetables daily. I am not re-joining Weight Watchers (though I'd be lying if I said I hadn't considered it). I am not stepping on the scale and measuring my worth by what that number tells me.

Is this because I've achieved perfection? Is this because my waist is trim, my buttocks and thighs smooth, my arms strong?

No.

This is because I have spent too much time in my life worrying about how I looked, and feeling like I wasn't good enough. I've hidden behind drab clothing when I was bigger, and I've strutted like a peacock (but not a peahen) when I was smaller, but I have felt judged, for better or for worse, by my weight, and I'm done with that.

I like who I am becoming, and my body has carried me this far. It has carried me over mountains, and into lakes and oceans; it has birthed a child, it has held lovers. It has stood up to a grizzly, and to an abuser who was threatening his wife and children with a gun and his rage. It has fought cancer, and cancer treatment, and anaphylaxis, and surgeries gone wrong. It is covered with scars that are ugly yet beautiful. Ugly because they replaced something smooth and clean with ragged and jagged; insanely beautiful because they are marks of my survival.

So this year, for new year's, I vow to love my body. I will continue trying to take care of it - I just got back from a wonderful four mile walk with Chance - because I really do feel better when I eat fruits and veggies, and because when I get outside my soul breathes easier, and because I want to live a long life. But I am not convinced that trying to twist my body into a shape that doesn't quite work, and requires constant vigilance, is right for me.

My energy is going to be spent on loving myself, not chastising myself. This is new.

I am not conventionally beautiful. I was not granted supermodel looks through the genetic lottery; I suppose in that way I am quite ordinary.

But I know how to be beautiful.

I am beautiful when I shriek as I jump into an alpine lake, eyes lit up with excitement and the thrill. I'm beautiful when I help a student to work through a problem, to see themself as whole and good. I'm beautiful when I tell the truth. And sometimes, I'm beautiful when I'm paddle boarding, or when I wear a particular dress and heels.

When I'm living my best life, my eyes light up and shine, and some see me as beautiful because they long for the light.

When I'm tugging at my sweater, holding my belly in, and marking down every bite, I'm not beautiful, and I'm not whole, and it takes so much damn energy that I forget how to focus on the things that matter.

***

This year, I am writing a book, and I am focusing all my energy on the ideas I'm trying to express, and on being the writer that I have always been. I accept my body, and I will treat it well, but this is not a year to focus on a marathon or a goal weight. I will walk, or run. I will do yoga, or paddle board, or hike, or snowshoe. I will eat salads, but also pasta.

This is my way of saying that I'm worth it.

This is my declaration to myself that I do not have to change in order to be worthy. I do not have to become something new, or turn everything upside down or inside out in order to be good.

I'm good.

My sheets are in the wash, the fridge is full of good vegetarian food (because we've been playing at vegetarian for a few months, having meat only rarely, and it actually feels great). I have a stack of books to read. I canceled the Hallmark Movies Now subscription, because it was a good way to rest at the beginning of break, but I'm done with it now.

2020 was hard, but it wasn't all bad for me. I slowed down enough to remember some things I really care about. I fell in love with my home all over again. I got unexpected time with Tessa. I missed my friends, but I also connected with them. I wrote.

I have been hoping to fall in love for years now, and it hasn't happened at all the way I'd hoped it would: I am quite, quite single. But now it seems right that it should be so. There is a thing I haven't done, because I told myself I wasn't good enough, and "not good enough" is not good partner material (how I would loathe a relationship with a man who walked through the world believing that about himself).

This year, I'm falling back in love with myself. Not with caveats, but with tenderness.

I'm a writer. I have something to say. I'm not afraid of putting my stories out there, because I know they have worth. I know I have worth. I'm not afraid to pursue my dreams, and when success comes, I won't be afraid of it. When someone says that I am a late bloomer, I will smile at them and shake my head "no" because I've blossomed many times before; this is just a new kind of bloom. Some will think that this is sudden, but not those who have really known me. I've been working on this my whole life, in one way or another, turning the words over in my head, on scraps of paper, on pixels. The only difference now is that I'm ready.

Welcome, 2021. I've been waiting for you, and I'm ready. Happy new year!

Detour

My plan for mid-winter break:
1. Rest
2. Go on great adventures
3. Work out
4. Catch up at work

I did okay with resting, and then my body said "Detour!" in a very loud voice: I got sick. Really sick. Fevers, chills, sneezing, coughing, body aches sick.

It is Monday morning and I'm at home, not at work. I think my fever broke last night (I got so sweaty I had to change my pajamas at two in the morning!), so maybe I'm on the mend, but I am definitely moving slowly (because that is all I can seem to do, and because when I get up and move I start coughing).

None of this is according to plan.

Most of my life has not been according to plan, actually. It is rare when something has gone as anticipated. I'm getting used to that idea, but I'm not bitter about it: I'm starting to figure out the peace in the detours.

This morning, I'm feeling gratitude, despite my illness.

My dog - so bouncy and wild - has calmly stayed by my side. He knows I'm sick, and he is here for me in an uncharacteristically calm way.

My work colleagues texted me to offer any support they could give. They told me they missed me, and then they made me feel appreciated, and they encouraged me to stay home and care for myself.

I have sick leave.

My teenage daughter went to the store to buy more ibuprofen, satsumas, tissues, throat lozenges, and chicken so that I can make chicken soup (tonight's dinner). She's brought me tea, and been self sufficient. (At 17 I still try to mom her, but it's nice to know she doesn't need me to do everything.)

So here I am, in my warm, comfortable house, with a cup of coffee in a favorite mug, sick and in bed. It's a detour I hadn't planned, but somehow, I'm okay.

I can get some work done. I can write. I can do some laundry. I can have a nap. I can drink tea.

***

After the really horrifying experience of witnessing domestic violence, I think I'm not surprised I got sick. I put myself in harm's way, and my body went into panic mode afterwards: I swear I could feel my blood pressure through the roof. I'm not surprised that my body said "Enough." Today is enforced down time; today I will move slowly, whether I want to or not.

***
I am determined to live my best life, detours and all. I have learned that sometimes the worst detours lead to some fantastic places: cancer taught me strength and the joy of being alive; divorce freed me to be happy. Looking back at my life, those detours were necessary for me to become who I am now, and I like myself better for how those experiences shaped me.

If my father had not revealed his truth, and shouted how ashamed he was of me, I would still be trapped in a relationship with him where I was constantly scrambling to stay safe as he questioned my worth.

The detours are horrible. In the moment, they are filled with pain, fear, anxiety, and hopelessness. At the moment when the detour announces itself, I have felt worthless.

It's what happens after that that matters, though.

I have come to realize that it's what we do with the detours that shapes us, not whether we get detours. EVERYONE gets detours! Some people seem blessed with fewer detours than others, but nobody gets through life unscathed. Whether it's health issues, family of origin issues, trauma such as rape or war, relationship issues, work issues, poverty issues, or equity issues (I do not forget my privilege as a white, middle class, cisgender, straight person), nobody gets through life without some detours. Some are easier to deal with than others, but having survived some, I know that I can survive others.

***

So, here I am, in required downtime. It's nearly 9am and I've managed to send in sub plans hours ago, and here I am writing, and the rest of the day stretches out before me. The trick will be to manage my time well, acknowledging that my body needs rest, but that even in rest there are ways to heal and ways to merely pass the time. How I manage my detour is up to me. This is my life, and I get to shape my path.

***

Weight Watchers follow up:

One of my detours has been my weight, and with it, my health. When I finished cancer treatment, I managed to lose 40 pounds, and I felt SO DAMN GOOD. I kept most of that weight off for almost a decade, but then it crept back up, and in my "new" job (2.5 years) I think I've gained 25 pounds. I say "I think" because my scale lives under the bathroom cabinet, and I hadn't pulled it out in years, so I have no idea how much I weighed when I started that job, but I do know that some of the clothes I could wear when I started no longer fit, and that my pant size went up from a 6 to a 10 since I started.

I am determined to reclaim my health again. This time, it's my cholesterol that has motivated me. I did not fight cancer for years only to die of a heart attack! Getting my cholesterol results was a definite detour, and it scared me.

But good things are coming from it.

I've lost 11.2 pounds in three weeks on Weight Watchers. I'm never hungry, because I can eat as much as I need. I've been snacking on fruit a lot more than usual - it isn't unusual for me to have a banana, an apple, and three satsumas in a day. I know there are folks out there who say "oh no fruit has too much sugar!" but I respond that nobody ever got fat eating fruit. I'm eating lots of fiber, I'm eating the rainbow, and more importantly I'm not eating processed junk or desserts because I'm filling up on healthy, whole foods. I know that this is how to take care of my health, and I'm thrilled with how I feel. When I've wanted a treat - chocolate, or, in one case, a burger - I've planned for it, tracked the points, and stayed on plan, and continued to lose weight. This is what healthy eating looks like to me: it's not about deprivation, it's about making thoughtful choices. According to the data, losing just 5% of one's weight can lower cholesterol, so in theory my cholesterol is already lower.

But it's more than that.

I want to date again. No, I don't: I want to fall in love. I want real, everlasting love with a man who finds me extraordinary. I want to look at him and think "How did I ever get this lucky?" and I want to feel safe, happy, and excited all at the same time.

I deserve that.

By working on my cholesterol, I'm also working on my physical appearance. I know that the right man for me will love me for my giant heart, my brave spirit, and my irrepressible optimism, but I also want him to think that I'm beautiful. What's more, I want to feel confident in my own skin. I don't want to sigh when I catch my reflection in a window. I want to go for runs where stretching my legs in that way makes me feel incredibly strong. I want to go for hikes where my focus is the lake, the smell of the forest, the feeling of the sun on my skin, because my body is strong and wants to soak up the miles.

I will be in a size 6 again by summer. I'm doing it for me, and if nobody noticed or cared it would still fill me with excitement to reclaim my body in this way. But I also think that I deserve to have a man think that I'm beautiful, and be drawn not only to my soul but to my physical self.

The cholesterol detour is going to pay off. I am absolutely sure that I am on the right track to get back my body, the one that is rightfully mine. I still have a ways to go - I want to lose at least 19 more pounds - but that's okay. I'm doing what it takes, committed to the process, and sure that it will work out. When I set my mind to something, nothing will stop me.

I know I'm unstoppable because I've had huge detours in the past, and I've found my way.

The next few months will be transformative for me. My body is changing, and with it, my mind is shifting. I will open myself up to dating again and - my intuition tells me - this time I'm ready, and the Universe has someone waiting for me who will be just as excited to find me as I am to find him.

***

So, I'm lying in bed, Chance at my feet, sniffling and sneezing with a tightness in my chest, but it's okay. It's okay, because I'm thinking about the life that I'm making, and I'm planning for my future, and I'm reflecting on how far I've come. I know that a chest cold/flu/whatever this is can derail, but only for so long. I'm not afraid of the detour, and I'm ready to come back stronger than ever. I also know that today is a day for naps, and I don't need to feel guilty about that.

Sometimes, detours have the best views.