Living Happiness

As some of you already know, one of my goals during this summer interlude of mine has been to shed a few pounds (or a few kilos, to those of you in the metric world), for I had settled into a somewhat fluffy body in my last few months in Crete, an obvious by-product of a suddenly-more-sedentary lifestyle and an apparent silent acquiescence to what people call The Love Pounds. And despite my knowledge of this extra fluff and desire to do something about it, my efforts were less than stellar … especially after my own fiancé said things like: But if you lose weight, you might not be so cuddly. Thank you (?), honey?

Anyway, suffice it to say that even though my primary mission this summer has been getting legal paperwork in order for our wedding, my one very practical side mission has been to lose 6 kilos and find my less fluffy self. To friends, I have even actually cheekily dubbed my quest the Become a Bronze Goddess Summer Beauty Program. And here, at the almost-end of summer, I can honestly tell you that my bronze-ness is somewhat more akin to brass, and I am not so much goddess as a possible Lady (erm … Goddess?)-in-Waiting.

In these past three months, I have tried to make it a priority to visit the gym several times each week. And since every workout includes cardio, and since I get bored with cardio unless I’ve got something to occupy my mind, this means I have read a lot, I mean A LOT, of magazines this summer, two of which were the topic of an earlier summer post.

So you should not be surprised that, three days ago, I was on the elliptical trainer reading Oprah’s magazine O. And, surprise surprise, I came across an article that made me go hmmm. It was about this topic: Maybe we shouldn’t be worried about how we look but instead focus on how we see.

Now, this is probably something all of you already know, because I have lately come to realize that my readers (you) all seem to be a lot smarter than I am. You could say that sometimes I’m a bit slow on the uptake. Actually, you probably have said it. To each other. But don’t tell me. I don’t want to know. I would rather be your clueless, blogger friend on this point.

Anyway, I felt like this article may as well have been writ large in the sky, so profound was this concept to me. Not worry about how I look? Not obsess over every calorie, every gram of carbohydrate? Not take my measurements religiously, as if the lasagna I guiltily ate for supper would suddenly appear on my form four hours later? What? How could anyone speak such heresy? But it hit me in the face like a splash of cold water: “CHANIA GIRL, CHANGE THE WAY YOU SEE!”

flickr photo by mcoop13

I have a confession to make: For most of my adult life, I have stood before mirrors and never been quite content with what stared back at me. I look at my face first and wish I didn’t have a weak chin when I’m not smiling. Then I look at my boobs and wish they’d show up already. I look at my waist and realize that I definitely inherited a pear-shape but didn’t inherit the tiny waist that goes with it. I work my way down and bemoan the expanse of my hips and the fact that I am long-torsoed. I assess my @ss (pun intended) and find it falls short of smooth and perky and may perhaps be an “After” picture for what sitting bare-bummed in gravel can do to you. I glance at my thighs and wish the tops of them were skinnier. And on and on and on. (I do, however, actually like my feet.)

Suffice it to say that, even when at my thinnest and (as pictures would indicate) not overweight AT ALL, I have still managed to look in the mirror and find myself consistently lacking. I have held up a big, old standard of something to my body and, despite all its best efforts, pronounced it to be utterly disappointing and without grace. I have done this for years. I have looked at my body (through very faulty lenses, obviously) but I have not seen it.

When I realized this three days ago (on the elliptical trainer no less) I wanted to sit down and bawl right there. But I didn’t, because I didn’t want to be That Weird Girl At The Gym. I thought, “Oh, my. Why have I been doing this to you, Body, for so long? Oh, forgive me, forgive me, forgive me. What can we do to make things right?”

And, don’t you know it, she answered back! “Tell me what you love about me,” she said, “because I love you, and I need to hear it. “

flickr photo by gracelizabeth

It broke my heart, but I knew she was right. At the end of the day, what is most important is much less how I look and far more How I See.

I have liked to congratulate myself on the fact that my “seeing” has definitely improved over the years. I’m much better now about being kind and generous in several facets of my life, more forgiving and loving to myself and others. But I see that I haven’t yet extended this courtesy to my Body, who’s about as close to me as anybody (hahaha — anybody, get it?) can get. My mind knows, “Beauty is as beauty does,” but this knowledge hasn’t made it the very crucial 10 inches down from my head to my heart. Far too often, I have measured my self-worth in inches and centimeters rather than in the life and love in my life, the beauty of relationship, the wonder of my very own creative successes.

So, thanks to Oprah and her article in O and to my Body for piping up, I’m going to start making some changes. And the first thing I’m going to do is begin telling my Body what I love about her. And then I’m going to look at the demands I place on her in order to discover what makes her feel happy, alive, vibrant, and strong … and then start doing them! Call me crazy (okay, maybe you already do) but I have a hunch this will make the rest of me happy, too.

I think I’ll start with my feet … .

Namaste and peace to all of you,

Receive Living Happiness in Your Reader or via Email

or follow Living Happiness on Facebook.

Opening photo credit ~ flickr photo by mcoop13