Why is it that I had to wait until my neck is crinkly, my ass is dragging, and my skin is dull before I could begin to love myself?
Kind of ironic, don’t you think?
I look at photos of my younger self, and I long for the toned arms and legs of my youth, but god, I wouldn’t go back to that state of mind for anything in the world. I’m so much more comfortable here and now.
Can you imagine if women had 20-year-old bodies and 40-year-old self-images? We would rule the fucking universe. Not that we’d want to, because we’d be so lovely and happy and content. And every time we looked in the mirror, our outsides would match our insides, and all would be well.
I like my life. If every sucky thing I’ve ever been through was designed to bring me here, then maybe it was all worth it. Yes, there are things I still long for. Yes, improvements could be made. Yes, some days are not so great. But I feel alive – maybe for the first time in my whole life.
I feel connected to the bigger picture. I feel my pulse. I’m conscious of my breathing and of my movements. I’m aware of my feelings, and I realize they change like the weather and should not dictate my future.
It’s no accident that all of these warm and fuzzy thoughts are coming after a lovely sunset 7-miler through the countryside farms. It is truly, truly wonderful to be alive to all that is in me – to all that surrounds me.
What can I give back to this perfect Universe that brings me joy and inner peace? For now, I give my runs. Each one is a silent praise to the Earth and to everything under the sun that is good and lovely. The bugs, the trees, the tiny butterflies… the farmlands and the soil… I surrender myself to the masterful miracle of life, and my heart is full.