Jolly? Fat People . . .

I'm not an unhappy fat person.  Just an uncomfortable one.  I'd like to be able to bend over without my stomach getting in the way, cross my legs comfortably, not have to work up a sweat to buckle my seat belt on the airplane - you know, simple pleasures.

Like many overweight people, I have struggled with the scale most of my life, tried and been successful with almost every diet known to humankind, and then cosmically gained every pound back - plus a few bonus "ounces."  I've walked, run, cycled, gone to therapy, worked out, "trained," toned up, firmed up, and flabbed right back out.  I would simply like to find a normal, healthy eating plan that I can stick with for life, incorporate some regular physical activity, and let my body find the weight it wants to be, and start enjoying the aforementioned simple pleasures. Is this asking too much?

I've sworn off "diets," because I spend too much time looking forward to "the end" of said program. Danger Will Robinson.  So, I decided that perhaps it was time to try a completely different approach.  All week long I have girded myself up to attend a local meeting of Overaters Anonymous.  Saturday, LMH, 10:00 a.m.  I went to bed last night saying - "I will not wake up and find an excuse not to go."  I woke up this morning, with my will to go still intact.  And a strong craving for a Munchers cream cheese donut.  Then it started to pour down rain, lots of thunder and lightening, Frau is out of town, perfect kind of day to curl up in the recliner with the dog and a good book or computer and not leave the house.  I almost caved - but no, I held firm.  And figured I could get what might become "the last donut" on the way to the meeting.

Proud of myself for heading out in a downpour, and anticipating being motivated to radically change my eating lifestyle after the meeting, I stopped and got not one, but two donuts, made an extra trip around the hospital to finish them, parked, checked my face and shirt for tell tale sugar crumbs, went inside and unashamedly asked the nice volunteer at the help desk where the Overaters Anonymous meeting met.  Didn't even whisper or call it OA.

Guess who wasn't on the schedule to meet today?

Now I'm a disappointed, uncomfortable fat person - just weighting around . . .

Walk Away from the Woodshed

I've been thinking a lot lately about the blogging craze, the willingness for folks to bare themselves on the world wide web, and the stories we tell ourselves and others.  Folks flock to bookstore self-help sections to find some sort of absolution and solution for conflicts and problems with which they are dealing.  The books tell them to avoid those situations in the first place, leaving them feeling more oppressed and alone with their burden, and plodding off to "the woodshed" to punish themselves for being "so stupid" in the first place.    

In another of those intersecting moments, I've found myself reading blogs by one friend who is Buddhist, who comments on the stories we tell ourselves.  She says we tell ourselves many stories of "who we are" in various moments, and Buddhist practice would say that if we don't like who we are in those moments, we should "change the story" - much like we change the channel on the tv or radio.  Granted, this is my interpretation of HER interpretation of a book that she read, but I think this is the gist, and I like what it implies.  One of the "stories" she tells herself is that she is not a very good writer.   I got all caught up in that comment, because I LOVE her writing, and I couldn't believe she said that about herself.   Then I realized, she wasn't saying it was a fact - it is just the "story" that she tells herself.   And, I suspect, she'd like to change the channel from that story.   That "story" allows her to make excuses when her writing isn't received as she had hoped.   I had to admit that one of the stories I tell myself is that weight is a big "issue" for me - and I use that story to "excuse" my lack of will power at controlling how I treat my body.   I decided that rather than find my next excuse for a bag of M&Ms or a creme filled chocolate donut, I would simply start telling myself to "change the channel."   Old story - I am a person who will always struggle with her weight.   New story - I am a person who can make healthy and happy choices about her eating and exercise.  It's Wednesday night, and that method has been effective, and somewhat satisfying, for the past three days.  In refusing to live in the story that weight is problematic for me, I'm finding, moment by moment, that I can tell myself a healthier story of a stronger C.   

Another friend has been telling her personal story of recent pain and self-discovery on her blog. Not only has it been cathartic for her, but she is discovering that the sharing of her story and her willingness to be vulnerable in new ways is providing a start of healing for others who have heard her story and realized they have lived a similar story - and they are not alone.   And in finding out she is not alone, her own healing is beginning.

At my church, we have been talking about the importance in the Christian community of sharing our stories in order to build community.   As one retired pastor tried to explain, we all have a story, and all our stories are important, and it is important to share those stories with each other.  I am finding this more true with each passing day.

So often, we keep our stories to ourselves, like some precious possession (or curse) that no one else could ever understand.   The hoarding of our personal story deprives us of the ability to help someone else deal with their story, and also puts us in the position of potentially poisoning ourselves with a story that really needs to be retold (change the channel!).  Sharing enables others to help us sort through the falsity or veracity of the stories we tell ourselves.

I know I take myself "to the woodshed" far too often, punishing myself for not "doing it right" - "it" being life, in general.  Punishment without rehab just isn't all that effective.   Self-flagellation may give me a momentary feeling of finding some sort of justification for my failings, but it is in my willingness to make myself vulnerable to someone else, accountable to people that I know genuinely care about me, that I begin the necessary healing of rehabilitation, thereby gaining the strength to change the channel to a more positive story.  Change the channel, and walk away from the woodshed into a community of friends ready to listen. 

Metabolism, Metaphysics, and Mother Teresa

If this seems an odd alliterative strain to you, imagine how I feel with it being an accurate symbol of my life these days. Let's just say that metabolism and metaphysics are intersecting in crucial ways, these days, and recent news of Mother Teresa's doubts during her life have added some definition.

I'll start with the beatified Mother . . . what a relief it was to hear that this selfless and committed woman experienced doubt and desert experiences in her spiritual life. I've had a few of those in recent years - mostly feeling like I'm doing my "40 days" in the desert (with 40 days to be translated as figurative, not inerrantly literal). My metaphysical journey has taken me in search of structure and a more contemplative approach to worship, as well as a broader expression of God's acceptance of ALL of his children, which I found in the Episcopal church. And this was a good place for me, and met a spiritual need at a particular time in my life. But it didn't quench the desert thirst, if you will. I found myself becoming less and less "sure" of everything I thought I knew, and found myself saying - "It doesn't matter if you have all the answers. As long as you are sure of the essential Truth of your faith - the rest becomes 'details.'" And I'm not entirely sure I don't believe that, but it makes for a very shaky foundation on which to build your world view. It seemed like too much contemplation had led to too much uncertainty, and too much avoidance of confrontation and accountability.

On the physical side - I was growing more and more - period. And growing more and more unhappy about it. I seemed to have no will power and an extraordinary number of reasons, "issues" and excuses as to why I wasn't losing weight and maintaining a healthier lifestyle.

Both metaphysically and metabolically, I felt very much a need for re-grounding myself. And the Frau was feeling it, too, I think.

And so we made a trek out of the desert and made a stop at this nice little oasis in our neighborhood at - and I'm not making this up - the American Baptist Church in our town. Our "excuse" was that it would be a nice change of pace for the summer, and our neighbor directs the music there. Imagine our shock as the pastor preached a marvelous sermon on God's welcome inclusivity, and the service was a welcome blend (as much as I hate that word to describe worship) of liturgical structure and contemplation and evangelical freedom of expression. Conversations and e-mails with the pastor and our neighbor (one of the associate pastors) over the weeks that followed seemed to pull me farther and farther away from the desert, and more into a feeling of the true sanctuary of home.

And the more re-grounded I became in my spiritual life, the more I realized it was time to move out of the desert in my physical life as well (although, I had apparently landed in the best-fed desert God ever created). So the Frau and I, with the strong encouragement and support of 2 of our good friends who had recently been through a healthy weight loss program, signed on to learn how to eat right and lose weight. And we have been as faithful to the program as we have to church in the last few months. I had this epiphany in church a week or so ago that it seemed that getting our spiritual life moving in a positive direction had served as a catalyst and support for our physical life, as well.

Now, I don't mean to be premature - we've only been on the weight loss program for 2 weeks, but I've lost 8 pounds and the Frau has lost 10 inches (we are celebrating are successes), and I'm sure we could lose our focus. But I truly don't think that will happen. I've never felt more certain about achieving a goal - my only concern is having the patience to let it happen in the appropriate amount of time.

So . . . metaphysical re-grounding, metabolic retraining, and a symbolic pat on the shoulder from Mother Teresa saying it's ok to go through these kinds of questioning times have all intersected in what I hope is going to be a dynamic re-direction for the last half of my life. And I'll try to keep in mind that the journey is our home. Amen.

Time, Dollars & Sense

I hit my 46th birthday earlier this month, and assuming I make it to 90 (which might be a stretch), I suppose this means I'm starting down the backside of the proverbial "hill." Perhaps it would be better to say that I'm commencing with the second, and wiser, half of my life. At least, I hope it's a bit wiser.

I visited with my shrink a few weeks ago to talk about my weight, and why, in spite of all the positive strides and benefits in my life in the past few years, I can't seem to curb this one self-destructive streak. As is her custom, she quickly carved out the bigger picture for me, of which weight was just the primary symptom. Money management not being one of my strong suits, imagine how thrilled I was for her to attach monetary value to how I manage my time . . . "You need to evaluate how you are spending your time dollars . . ." Damn her for always making sense.

Actually, I thank her, as that pearl of perspective has cast me on a course of enriching, and perhaps saving, my life. (And no, although I sometimes feel like one, I don't believe she has cast her pearl before a swine!)

I've spent a majority of my time dollars in the first half of my life trying to overachieve and live up to the image I thought everyone expected of me. At times, I think I believed I was trying to please myself, but as the years have gone on, that line between pleasing others and pleasing myself has gotten somewhat blurry. And with that blurred vision, I sought identity in my so-called accomplishments. For my under-40 friends, let me assure you that this does not a happy person make. It is possible that some of my u-40 friends have learned this lesson already, and I'm just a late bloomer, having discovered the joy of a significant other somewhat late in life. The life of a single person does seem to provoke this external search for identity - at least in my case.

Old habits are hard for old folks to break, though. And even after being blessed with a reason to come home, I haven't said "no" as frequently as I should. As I heard a political comedian say a few weeks ago, "just because you CAN, doesn't mean you SHOULD." I have had a bad habit of agreeing to take on responsibilities because I can do them WELL, but not because I ENJOY doing them. And the identity that accepting them has given me is the increasing opportunity to be asked to do MORE things I don't particularly enjoy. Go figure.

Consequently, . . . u-4o friends, listen closely, I have "accomplished" the following:

• "opportunities" to be in charge of multiple things that no-one else cares to take on (not even for the extra money involved)
• little if any extra time for such productive things as regular physical exercise and nutritious meal planning
• chest pains - probably due to stress (see above), unhealthy living (see above), and GERD, but the results of the stress test I took today and the trip to the hospital yesterday should confirm or deny this
• less time with the Frau, the garden, and my books - three of my great joys in life (and where I would prefer to spend ALL of my time dollars - and which don't give me chest pain)

So . . . I am reassessing and reinvesting as the second half of my life commences - and I'd like to enjoy ALL of the second half. I'm giving up "opportunities" and the extra income that comes with them. I'm establishing a baseline for my health, and with my new found time dollars I will reinvest in some healthy life habits. I am anticipating spending lavishly on my three great joys, including FINALLY reading a book given to me almost six years ago that, ironically, I have "wanted" to read but haven't had "time" entitled: Sabbath: Restoring the Sacred Rhythm of Rest (by Wayne Muller). It just makes sense.
Amen.