Like many
women raised in the beauty-obsessed culture of California, I have spent much
time criticizing my appearance from tip to toe, lamenting the dissimilarities
of my reflection and those of magazines, friends, what- have-you.
Today, in
the midst of what could only be described as a visual vivisection of my
physique, I stopped. I stopped after I had slandered my voluminous legs and
realized how incredibly pointless, harsh, and ungrateful my sentiments were.
How speaking such ideas was a horrible waste of precious breath, and not just a
waste of breath, but a bit blasphemous.
I have the
gift of movement. My legs take me around my apartment, my city, my world. My
legs work and work well. My legs are the foundation to a body that is, for the
most part, healthy. How lucky am I? I also have arms that allow me to hug those
I love; I have eyes that see the beauty in the world; I have ears that take in
harmonies and all the sounds of life. I am blessed. My body is a blessing –
imperfections and all.
I am not
taking this as a simple resolution that will get me to the gym so that I can
finally like my body. Nope. Instead, I am taking this moment to love my body as
is and begin to take of it as much as I take care of anything I love: with
kindness, patience, and perseverance.
No comments:
Post a Comment