about those green pants

in
green pants

i'm gonna let you in on a little secret about those green pants...
the morning of those pictures i made my glitter sign (tracking sparkle all through the house), donned my green pants, set the camera to self-timer, and clicked away.
and what i got were the photos you saw: green pants, sparkle sign, and me looking...happy, i think.
but upon first seeing the images i thought, oh, my legs look fat. 
and so i took a breath.
and then allowed another, more rational (read: healthier) part of me to say, doesn't matter. 
 
and i made the choice--and yes, it was a choice--to let the doesn't matter trump the oh, my legs look fat. 
 
now i know some of you might be thinking, isn't the oh, my legs look great an even better choice--an even more powerful statement? to which i say, maybe. but, i think that choosing to give no value to what they look like is the ultimate goal. because then, whether they look good or bad or blue or long, it really doesn't matter--it doesn't change my day, it doesn't affect how i'm feeling. it has no power to undo me.
there are still days i am undone. still days i feel like i've lost six years of my life to this thing. still days i feel i'll never be as thin as i need to be.
i've been thinking a lot about what it is the eating disorder gave me. because anyone worth their salt will tell you there's a reason you keep it around. i fought against this idea as much and as hard as i could (for as long as i could). if there was one thing i was clear on, it was this: i hated the eating disorder. i wanted it gone. i wanted nothing to do with it.
and then, just the other day, it came to me. it was not the binge i needed. it was the moment after. those brief, fleeting moments when after yet another rock-bottom, the only direction i could look was up. those brief, fleeting moments when the binge was done and a blank-slate was before me and i hadn't yet screwed up and anything was possible and maybe just this one time i. would be. perfect. and so i made lists and rules and nearly impossible-to-keep regulations because yes, indeed, this time i would be perfect. this time i would be different. this time i would be...someone else.
i think there's this idea that the thin version of ourselves is actually a different person. and oh what a dangerous, little idea this is! because let's say you become thin, you reach that goal weight, and yet you're still the same. and you still have the same fears and anxieties and chronic frustrations. and that dissonance--that disconnect between who you thought you'd be and who you actually are...that's the first crack. the first fissure in the foundation--the very thing with the potential to undo it all.
i remember thinking as my first year of college ended...i'd like nothing more than a vacation from myself. i'm the one person i need a break from. and so i went home, worked at a job i hated, and lost somewhere between 15 and 19 pounds. and then returned to school in august.
and, turns out, i hadn't gotten that much needed vacation. so i attempted to vacate myself, and where i made space, an eating disorder rushed in.
there is still an underlying frustration and anger that countless medical professionals, educators, friends were unable to help me. but at the end of the day the eating disorder took root because...
well, because, i didn't love myself. (i don't think i even liked myself).
i thought i did. or, at least, i didn't realize that i did not.
i've never admitted that before. but there you have it.
the process of getting better--of recovering--has really been the process of falling in love with myself. and let me be clear, it was not a process of learning to love myself, but of actually falling head over heals for myself. for my dark brown hair and caustic sense of humor. for my big feet and ostensibly gracious demeanor (i've got you all hoodwinked!).
there is a joy that follows. that comes from learning to look on yourself as God or the Holy Spirit or your inner divinity looks on you. it's the closest thing to Heaven i've ever known.
it's still a day by day thing. good days and bad days and heavenly days. but day by day, nonetheless.
 
 

in





"whatever comes," 
she said, 
"cannot alter one thing. 
if I am a princess in rags and tatters, 
i can be a princess inside. 
it would be easy to be a princess 
if I were dressed in cloth of gold, 
but it is a great deal more of a triumph 
to be one all the time 
when no one knows it. "



frances hodgson burnett, a little princess
via. 

almost ten years later. (a pseudo-political op-ed. skip over as desired).

in



i was sixteen years old, sitting in first period world-history when news of the first plane hitting the tower came.

and i laughed.

because it was outrageous--unfathomable. and i was sixteen. and terrified. so i laughed.

the world had ended. in that moment, some version of all that i had ever known, ceased to be.



last night, the news of bin Laden's death came in. via twitter--yes, certainly this is a different world in more ways than one.

i don't own a television, but i opened up the new york times live feed in my browser and marveled that modern technology would allow me the convenience of watching the President's address. live.

and as i waited for the President Obama and his speech and some directive as to how i should be feeling, i thought:

tomorrow, i might wake up, and it might be a new world all over again. and that might not be a good thing.

what will the aftermath bring? what repercussions await us here?

am i glad that a man pumping so much pure hatred into the world is gone? of course. is there a sense of sweet relief? i think so--maybe just a little.



truth be told, i don't know as much as i should--about any of this. about the politics or the conflict or why some decisions are made and others are not.

i appreciated Obama emphasizing that we are not at war with Islam, that Osama was not a Muslim leader.


however, it was the following that unsettled me:


and on nights like this one, we can say to those families who have lost loved ones to al-Qaida's terror: justice has been done. 








justice has been done.




(i'm gonna let that hang there. in the air. for a minute).






i understand the sentiment. i understand what was trying to be said.


and yet...

 an eye for an eye?


there's this line in macbeth--perhaps my favorite in all of shakespeare. macbeth murders the wife and children of macduff. and macduff is urged by another to change that grief into anger and to avenge the loss of his family. to bring about revenge on the bloody and ruthless macbeth.

and macduff turns around says: he has no children. 


and those four words, those four words say it all,

there is no equal justice.



justice has been done. 






justice has been done?

there is no. equal. justice.

it does not exist.



in the immediate wake of september 11th i remember being particularly upset by images of people around the world taking to the streets to celebrate and cheer.

let us not be those people now.

i would like nothing more than for a wave of the unity that overtook this country following that fateful day in september to return. but let us not be those people cheering in the streets. let us not be shortsighted. let us not lose sight. let it not be one more death that incites that within us.

let us quietly bow our heads, give thanks, and go about working for change and unity, as opposed to assuming it is our right. let us, as americans, lead by example. let us practice that too-often-under-utilized wonder-drug, humility.








(please do note, these are my opinions. we are all entitled to our own. keep that in mind.)