Yesterday, I spent a whopping 4 hours putzing in my kitchen and dining room. Putzing, then tweaking. Tweaking, then cleaning. Cleaning turned into an all out offensive attack on any can, jar, box, appliance, dish or linen that failed to make my heart warm and fuzzy. My results: 2 boxes full of donations (courtesy of still unused wedding gifts)….one huge garbage bag stuffed with, well, garbage…and much more order in space. Getting rid of the stuff did make me feel like a cold-hearted B, but the act of keeping only what I use and LOVE felt good. Really good. Less was more.
In the process of doing all of this, I wore S.P.A.N.D.E.X yoga pants. Yup, I did. Why bring this up, you ask? My spandex is starting to feel TOO BIG (woot woot!) I am down 18lbs and a couple of inches on the waist and hips. Partly from health issues last spring. Partly from my new life-diet void of dairy and white flour. Mainly, I exercise.
I’ve lost significant weight 3 times: all post-baby blubber. Nice people would always say nice things about my ‘amazing transformation.’ Each time they said it I thought, thanks! Wait, what the hell? Was I really THAT fat?
This time, I was in the clear. No post-baby thing. Just exercising my free will to take care of myself. So when my kid’s teacher innocently gasped and then whispered, “you are so much thinner! Wow, you really lost weight! Oh, were you working at that?”
“Well I was sick for a few months. I’m eating differently now. And I like to do yoga and stuff. Thank you for noticing.”
And we go about our business – the teacher none the wiser about my internal woes. Was I really that heavy before?
Well, heck. I guess I shouldn’t care. I feel great. Less of me DOES feel good. And because I’m a person who likes feedback on my work, I am even more inspired to kick my butt on the yoga mat. Less of me feels like more.
Before I leave you, I have to share daughter’s recent art work. Completely innocent: the couple is forming a band. She thought the police officer would like to come and watch. Good grief. I hope this never falls into the hands of a child psychiatrist.