Bodies, Rest, & Motion

[Two postings, one day? Huh! Writing like this is better than any therapy appointment ever will be. 20 minutes later and I feel really free and loose. You may read this and feel bummed, but I feel great. This is what writing’s about. Getting places you didn’t think you could. It’s a good night.]

Short but profound realization that had me spontaneously break into tears and then suddenly feel relief. I don’t really understand it, yet, but since I’m into the wine, I also don’t want to forget it and think it could be interesting for others to read.

So I was sort of reflecting on a conversation from last night about why I should worry so much about my weight and my body, since I’m cute, but more importantly, I offer a lot. And I know all that, but I couldn’t really explain why it’s so important to me that I achieve what I want health-wise. And I don’t want anyone thinking that my pursuit to change myself is merely rooted in vanity, ‘cos I’m so much more than that.

Tonight, it hit me. My mother died at 57. She was healthy and active and beautiful and still smaller than I am even now. 57. Cancer made her its bitch twice in 6 months, and the second time, poof, gone in two weeks. None of us is invincible. Sometimes I thought she could be.

I’m 35. And I feel I’m nowhere near half done with this life of mine, let alone past the 60% mark.

And I was so unhealthy, so unhappy.

I’m not head over heels with myself yet, but I’m crushing on me. Madly. I like what I’ve accomplished, and now it’s not about self-esteem.

It’s about living long enough to do all the things I see myself doing. I see wildly healthy, active 70-year-olds nowadays. I knew a woman, Mrs. Chapel, when I was 13, who was just doing her first skydive at 82 and had become BC’s oldest female black belt in karate at 78.

My mother climbed mountains in China, raced yachts in the Mediterranean, and was a Medallion Club real estate saleswoman. Strange men left her notes on the windshield of her car, saying how alluring she and her red hair were. Smart, sexy, independent, and resilient. Dead from a tumour at 57. SHE was living life right. Until she wasn’t.

I can do this life thing. I got style. I don’t have much but appreciate all I got. I don’t ask for a lot. It’s not about that. It’s about… everything. It’s bigger than us and our domiciles. In keeping, I appreciate everything from sunrises to early spring flowers, lazy afternoons to lingering kisses. Life is short. Enjoy it all. Be in the moments.

And don’t die young.

I want to be that foul-mouthed, still-drinking, always-chuckling, envelope-pushing 82-year-old woman who still wants to skydive. And does.

Because I know she lurks inside. It’d be a shame to deprive her.