Is It?

I try not to think of what I would do if the unthinkable happened. What if I lost a member of my family, or my house burned down, or everything I had worked hard to achieve disappeared? I guess I avoid thinking about these things because I fear that I would just wither away and never be heard from again.

The unthinkable happened to Horatio Spafford. Several decades ago, Horatio lost almost everything. His business and home were destroyed in the Great Chicago Fire. Two years later, he sends his family on a European vacation, and his four daughters are killed when the boat they are travelling on crashes into another boat. When Horatio's wife notified him of the tragedy, he hopped the next boat to Europe. And what did he do during the lengthy journey across the Atlantic? He wrote a song. Not a song of lament, or anger, or bitter resentment. Not a song becrying the tragedies of the years past. No, instead, Horatio writes what is quite possibly the most peaceful and praise-filled hymn sung today, It is Well With my Soul.

I can't imagine the kind of internal serenity Spafford possessed to be able to write something so prolific at such a tragic time. I can't imagine having a faith so deep, strong, and all-encompassing that I would have the clarity to know that my soul was ever going to be ok. I wish I had faith like that. I wish I was able to take enough stock in something greater than myself. Enough that all of the minutia of the day-to-day details became just that. Details. So that everything of importance; my mind, body, heart, and spirit were saturated with tranquility. So that minor inconveniences, careless friends, or missed deadlines weren't enough to flush my cheeks.

I have a hard time with faith, mostly because I can't see it or touch it. Disappointment occurs more than fulfillment, and I just assume the status quo. I don't say this to be self-deprecating, but more because I am so baffled by those who choose to believe that it really is going to be ok. And not just for the next five minutes.

I wish it could just hit me over the head. Some life altering moment that causes me to take action on this faith thing and really feel the peace Spafford so fondly put to words.

No pang shall be mine, for in death as in life
Thou wilt whisper thy peace to my soul

Owning It

I was really excited to catch Adele last night on Saturday Night Live. Her songs have been the soundtrack to my commute back and forth from work for the past few months, and I couldn't wait to hear her live.

Adele definitely did not disappoint. She sounded as amazing live as she does coming through my car stereo speakers. What also impressed me was that she chose to wear a short dress. As a woman who sometimes feels like my breasts are the only part of my body worth flaunting, I was excited to see another plus-sized girl showing some leg. And you know what? She looked great. She was sexy without displaying six inches of cleavage, and she rocked the mic without performing some sort of overdone booty jiggle.

Self-criticism is a hard habit to break. I keep thinking that at some point, I'll run out of negative things to say and think about myself. That at some point I will truly stop caring about the way my arms look in a sleeveless shirt and how well my jeans appear to fit.

It's easy for body image to become an obsession. It starts with something small; a pair of pants fitting loosely, having someone comment that I appear to have lost weight, or even going to bed hungry. It doesn't take long before I'm counting every calorie, calculating every meal, examining each piece of food that passes in front of my lips. The problem is that it starts to feel so good. It literally and figuratively starts to feed itself into control. It's like there is this separate being that hovers over me and weights until the ultimate point of vulnerability. And then...WHAM! I'm trying on my skinny jeans every morning before work and eating little else than vegetables and peanut butter. All of this, only to come full circle within a matter of days/weeks/months.

This is my most difficult habit to break, and I think because it's so multi-faceted. There is guilt, coupled with a sense of responsibility for health, multiplied by my burning desire to be thinner, and then iced with the fact that I cannot escape my drug of choice. So here I am. In the now, and trying to just take it day by day. And today is not going so well.

There's never gonna be a moment of truth for you
While the world is watching
All you need is the thing you've forgotten
And that's to learn to live with what you are

So freak out if you wanna
And I'll still be here
Don't call me for years and when you do
Yeah, I'll still be here

Flowers, Flowers, Everywhere

Dear People who Sell Stuff on Craigslist:

Laura Ashley is not exactly interchangeable with Shabby Chic. That flowered couch your mom gave to you before you left for college in 1996 is not vintage. Nor is it worth $50.00.

Sincerely,

Me.

I Just Live Here

So, this morning I stopped to pick-up a newspaper from the little grocery around the corner from my house. As I was paying, a guy in his late forties came in and whistled a tune that has replayed in my head all day. I have been racking my brain all afternoon to remember where I know this tune, and finally it hit me.

I suppose you're never too old to get your Smurf on.

His Ego may be Larger than Alaska...

but his stingers are hotter than it's governor. Karma, meet Sarah Palin.



I've avoided making any commentary on this election for a few reasons. First, that's not really the purpose of this blog. And no, I can't tell you the actual purpose of this blog. Second, I'm nervous to take a stance that creates a historical stamp. It's like people driving around with those Gore/Lieberman stickers on the bumper of their Chevy's.'

But Sarah Palin disgusts me. And not because she is a cliche, or a woman who clearly substitutes 'cute' for substance. No, the reason Ms. Palin tickles my gag reflex is because she makes us look bad. Or, at least the us that have a vagina. I am disappointed with a woman who has accepted the position for one of the most powerful positions in the country, and possibly the world. I'm disappointed when I watch her falter and stumble and ineffectively try to manipulate her way out of any situation that requires her to be everything that she is not. Bold, strong, intelligent, controlled, deliberate, and confidant. Oh yeah, and that whole leadership thing. I'm sad because I've watched her turn into in a wannabe bully. No original thought, no original purpose, absolutely no creativity. Just riding the coattails of the smart kids and makings quips that end in an -in.

I think Anne Lamott has a better idea. I think that as women, we should support those who possess the fire. There are enough women out there who incite support from being dramatic, mean, "sassy," and otherwise useless. We all could stand to channel a little Molly Ivins.

I still believe in Hope - mostly because there's no such place as Fingers Crossed, Arkansas.
- Molly Ivins

I Sure Hope That's It

So I was talking with a coworker last week and catching up on the happenings of him and his family. He told me that his wife and youngest daughter had started a MediFast diet earlier in the week, and jokingly mentioned that his household had been rather tense ever since then. I remembered that his daughter was young, and when I asked my friend how old she was, he told me she was 11.

It was rather difficult to get through the rest of the conversation, because this wave of emotion came over me that I hadn't really expected. Dieting with my mom was a staple of our relationship from the time I was 12 until the time I left for college. I couldn't help but wonder about my friend's daughter.

I truly hope that this is the last diet she ever decides to take on. I hope that she gets to a healthy weight and learns some healthy habits and never gives a passing thought to the number on the tag of her jeans. But from what I know, and from what I have learned from other friends and various influences, this is probably just the beginning for her. This is not the first and last diet she will start; it is only the first of many. She will probably lose some weight and it will be positively reinforced by her family, friends, and cute boys in the lunch line. I hope that she decides how to eat by listening to her body, and not to her mom or infomercials or by watching her friends subsist on diet coke and carrot sticks.

My true hope is that this doesn't lead to destructive behavior. And that she doesn't start marking important events in her life by how much or little she weighed. That when she starts dating, she doesn't question why someone would want to touch her or be with her. That she doesn't spend her days counting calories and carbohydrates and sugar content of everything she eats.

Maybe I'm just forcing my own situation on to someone else. The thought of an 11 year-old starting a diet makes me cringe, makes me relive those days of coffee-only diets. I wish I could change it for so many other 11 year-old girls who are about to repeat the same exact cycles.

I knew that to keep in touch
Would do me deep in dutch
Cuz it isn't the rush of remembering
It's just mush
And the signature thing
Is only growing harrowing
I should have no trouble now
To keep from following