one of many small and tangible resolutions...

the scale i own is sitting in a bag next to the door waiting for a goodwill pick-up.

that was one of my new year's resolutions: rid my room of the scale.

to be fair i never really used it. once or twice in the past year, maybe. instead i would find it stored away in strange places like in my suitcase or sandwiched in a storage bin under my bed--such is the life of a new yorker where there's never enough space and storage is a commodity.

so while i never used it, i'd every so often unearth the thing.

and i'd feel it taunting me, climb on, it would say. let's play--let's have some real down-home-fun. 


i got the thing my freshman year of college when this disaster (i mean, adventure?) began and i still thought that the measure of one's health (and thus subsequent worth) was determined by the three numbers the scale offered up to me.

now in my old-age and generally-aknowledged (ahem) wisdom i know better. my health is the culmination of countless factors--many of which i can't control. but i know when i'm eating well. and i know when i'm exercising. and i don't need a scale to measure those things. so ipso-facto-ergo...what use have i for this antiquated device? scales provide the surface amount of information. they hint at things. like health. but they aren't the end-all-be-all.

i remember seeing something on a blog once about bus-stop benches in sweeden? norway? denmark?--some progressive european country. as a way to discourage obesity they had taken to measuring the weight of the seated person and projecting that number up above. i know what you're thinking: shocking, appalling, the wrong approach, right?

well...maybe a bit misguided but the more i thought about it the more i realized the number projected is simply that: a number.

our outrage stems from the shallow notion that weight is the ultimate end. in our culture each number comes with a stigma--an emotional attachment. bridget jones tells me that 140 is an unacceptable number. whereas, when i'm at 140 i border on looking way-too-thin. i see tweets all the time--people saying they're this tall and this is their goal number because that's how tall so-and-so is and that's how much they weigh. but weight sits differently on different people. we truly cannot compare our body to anyone else's--it's not fair, not healthy, and a really ridiculous benchmark.

maybe what we need to work on before we can worry about lowering the number that's flashing above us is detaching the number from the story we've assigned to it. it's just a number, that's all. and yes, it provides us with some information--but it's such a small slice of the pie.

when i started physique i looked leaner almost immediately and the number on the scale increased by more than a few pounds. oh wait, this was mean to be a physique update, no?

okay, okay, that'll come this afternoon...

the post that didn't happen today. and left us with this.

i was going to do a post today entitled:

physique 57: the three month update


because yes, i've been doing it for three months. can you believe that? i can't. it feels like weeks. or years. but not three months.

and the post was going to be a fed (and remission of ned) update. because they're all connected--exercise and food and mental acuity, or some such.

but alas. the post did not happen.

and i'm sitting here typing this with a bag of ice under my left foot wondering if i have a deeply pulled muscle in the ball of my foot. or if it's a stress fracture. and please God, don't let it be a stress fracture.

(and maybe i have some cream on my upper lip to curb the encroaching female lip hair {read: mustache}). too much sharing? oh man, i'm never gonna find someone willing to tolerate this crazy.

and the laundry that i was meant to do a week ago is just now in the washer.

i'm thinking at the end of this month i might throw a party just to celebrate january's inevitable end (and it is inevitable, right?).

that is all for today. pathetic, i know.

i leave you with a gratuitous self-portrait. (because i read somewhere that people who constantly take photos of themselves end up looking the best on camera because they learn all their angles and how to be confident and yada, yada, yada...and because i have this thing (read: tremendous fear) of having my picture taken i've been working on it...

anywhoo.

see you back here tomorrow for the physique update?

i know, i know, what can i say? i just can't get enough of them.

(begin around 4:40)

rivers and roads

the head and the heart

my brother and i are gonna see them this february up in boston and i couldn't be more excited. (maybe it was my christmas gift to him. and maybe it was my christmas gift to myself). 

{and maybe i have a girl crush on the blonde}.

getting to know manhattan.

new york was awash in tourists this holiday season. and when i say new york i really mean midtown--for it is midtown to which the tourists flock. to see the tree at rockefeller center. to see times square and its countless billboards. to see the lights and tall buildings. 

and i get it. i do, i get it.  and yet a part of me wants to shout out to them: no, this is not it. not here. this is not new york!

you know that scene in funny face where audrey hepburn sneaks off to an underground cafe? and it's dark and infused with smoke and she dances wildly to beatnik music surrounded by frenchmen wearing berets? well. take away the smoke. and transplant it here across the atlantic. and well, i suppose that's the new york i'm always in search of. 

(when in new york i want to eat at  restaurants i'll find nowhere else in the world. and see things that will never be replicated on some las vegas strip).

but i suppose that says more about me than the city. 

you know where i'd tell the tourists to go? where i'd suggest you might explore?  the parks. to riverside. and fort tryon. to central park, yes. and the conservatory gardens. and as of today, inwood hill.

my lovely friend kate and i headed to inwood (the northern-most part of manhattan) to wander around it's 196.4 acres (which they say looks not so different than when peter minuet bought the island from the dutch all those years ago). i've always wanted to go but been hard pressed to find a friend willing to make the trek. not kate. she was up to it--she's always up for a little adventure (and it certainly doesn't hurt that she's one of the funniest and most intelligent friends i have). 

the park was aglow with orange. snow still on the ground. and the hudson glimmering in the distance. and all city, you know? still new york. still manhattan. 

kate pointed out deer tracks and we talked as girls do who haven't seen each other in a year. and january got a little bit better. and manhattan gets cell service everywhere (even in the middle of a natural forest). 

the girl with the patchwork heart: a story (a hope)

sometimes she could feel it coming towards here before she ever saw it.
she would feel the rattle in her bones, look up and watch it approach.
a swift sweep across the horizon. a runaway train.
coming for her.
and she was helpless.
simply had to stand there and await its impact.
such was attraction.
most of the time she could ferret it out before it overwhelmed her.
she learned to read the signs.
dark curls of the hair. mischievous sidelong-glances. brooding dispositions. a kindred sadness. long eyelashes and deep-set eyes. strong hands and broad shoulders.

but this. this was altogether something new. different.
this had caught her totally by surprise.
she turned around one day and there it was.

he was good.
it was his goodness.
palpable. quietly radiating.
simple and pure.
and she wanted to touch it.
she wanted to reach out.
place palm against chest and feel it.
to know it with her fingertips.

but she knew.
wherever--however the attraction began.
despite pure intentions and good beginnings it carried in it the seeds of great heartbreak.
and she had loved so often. outwardly. in so many directions at once.
been forced to patch her heart together with nothing but scraps of twine and discarded threads.
and so she couldn't imagine.
couldn't imagine how heartbreak was not the inevitable end.

so she closed her mouth. stopped talking. bent her head as he approached.
tried desperately to preserve what little she had.

and yet.
she wondered.
if he might show her.
an alternate ending.

photo.