I’ve never been a walker. It was always painful for me. Somehow, over the last six months, maybe the stretching routine I’ve gotten into, perhaps the weight I’ve lost, walking has become comfortable, even enjoyable. I daresay I may even have a cute bounce in my step instead of the weary old “do I have to?” not-so-stride. I walk a lot these days. Sometimes even on purpose. And I usually take longer routes.
I KNOW. WEIRD.
Seemingly a tangent, but totally not: There’s considerably less of me than there used to be. Considerably. Sometimes I fail to really be aware of just how much less of me there is. It takes returning to old experiences, like seeing a movie, that gives me a comparison point between then and now. Like how the theatre seats leave room around my ass now, rather than the arms digging into my waist on either side.
But, walking, well, I’ve never done much of it before the last two months, right? I don’t have so much of a comparison point for it, not really. So I began getting really bitchy lately, thinking, “Wow. Everyone’s so much ruder nowadays. No one gives you space anymore on the sidewalk.”
Today, it occurred to me that, hey, maybe they don’t NEED to give me space anymore. So, I stayed the path instead of stepping off to the right or left to “avoid” them, and WOW. We didn’t collide!
So, what was perceptually a “wide enough berth” back in the day is way out of whack compared to what’s required for space now. Meaning, instead of thinking I need 24″ to clear down the sidewalk, it’s now closer to 16-18″. Nice. Makes a difference in the bumping-into-pedestrians realm.
And this is what I mean by how hard it is to change your point of view of yourself. I never would have imagined this mental struggle of “becoming thin” when I was fat. When I saw people talk on TV about how strange the reckoning was, and how hard, I always thought, “You’re such a wanker! How can you not feel thinner? What’s your DAMAGE, man?!”
People go, “Oh, well, it’s not a big deal, you’ll get past it.”
Of course I will. I get past everything. That doesn’t make it any less of a mindfuck now, though. In a nutshell, the reality is, it’s the act of being wrong about just about everything about yourself, because how you fit into the world, how you’re present in moments, that’s no small potatoes. That perception is the basis of nearly everything for us.
I’m not complaining. I’m just using my blog to think out loud. Since, well, that’s what it’s here for.
You could give me advice in processing this, but please only do so if you’ve actually EXPERIENCED this to the extent I am, since I was clearly blowing smoke out of my ass back before this massive life-change came my way. It’s a baffling process, the reckoning of me-thinnish versus me-then, but it’s probably the only time in my life this particular struggle will weigh on me. So, I’m trying to enjoy the growth it presents, embracing the little realizations, and writing them on here.
The sidewalk, however, is where I still have the most adapting to do. It blows my mind, the difference between the space I think I require and the reality of what I actually need.
But I’m not adverse to having my mind blown. More, please.