Looking for another miracle...

I have been obese twice in my life. I was never overweight as a child or as a teenager. The only time I have gained more than a few pounds was in response to quitting smoking. The first time was when I was 21. (I won’t shock you with the details of how long I had been smoking up until that point. That I will save for another posting.) I was not entirely aware of the weight gain as it was happening that first time. However, about a year after having my last cigarette, I realized that I had gained an unforgiveable number of pounds.

This actuality was brought home to me by a particularly painful incident involving a woman who had pretended to be my friend for a couple of years. I’ll call her ‘Brunhilda’ for the purpose of this tale. We met when we found ourselves sharing an apartment after a mutual friend, Michelle (about whom I blogged last month in 'Lost, but not forgotten...' http://tinyurl.com/yhpe8dm), backed out of sharing the place with me and I needed a roommate to help with the rent.

We remained roommates for a time, and then went our separate ways. During the time Brunhilda and I lived together, other friends commented on more than one occasion that this woman was not a true friend to me. I didn’t pay too much attention to this. Whatever shortcomings she had as a friend did not seem to have much of an impact on me at that point in my life. And, as we hardly saw each other after we ceased to be roommates, it wasn’t that important to me either way.

However, one day, completely out of the blue, I got a call from her. She said she wanted to see me and (somehow) talked me into going up to the restaurant where she worked to visit her. Foolishly, I did. Not long after I arrived she hit me with this tidbit in a very conversational tone:

“Wow, Michelle was right. You did get fat.”

This was not the kind of greeting I was anticipating. I felt the blow on two fronts. The first being that I was abused by two people I thought of as friends. I felt betrayed. I felt like an idiot – a schmuck. The second, of course, being that for the very first time in my life someone had called me fat. That’s not something you forget. Ever.

Years passed before I lost that weight. I’m not exactly sure how it started. But I finally came to a point in my life where I felt good enough about myself to start exercising and eating “right”. I started walking in the park on a daily basis. I was in the process of detoxing myself from the antidepressant Zoloft I had been taking to help me get over a bad case of unrequited love. I would walk through the woods and experience nature while pushing through the light-headedness and woozy feeling the drug left behind as it worked its way out of my system.

Many people ran past me wearing sunglasses and earphones. I remember wondering at the time why they would go to the trouble to come all the way to the park to run when it was obvious to me that they wanted neither to see the wilderness nor listen to the wildlife. If that’s the way they felt about the experience, why didn’t they run in a gym or up and down the street where they lived. People are funny sometimes.

Anyway, over the course of about six months I lost the excess weight. It felt like a miracle to me. I realize now that it was a man-made miracle, not one of divine instigation. Or perhaps it is more accurate to call it a ‘me-made miracle’. At any rate, I felt good about myself. I was mentally, emotionally, and physically in the best shape I had been in since I was a child. I was living strong before that phrase was even coined.

But the years went by and (for some reason that I am still unable to fathom) I started smoking again. And, as before, I eventually quit. Also as before, I gained a lot of weight. Once again, I have waited for a good stretch of time before beginning to lose this weight.

But now I’m ready for another ‘me-made miracle’. I’m fully aware that this time around it may be a bit harder. I am older now and have a slower metabolism. I acquired asthma a number of years back (I was diagnosed after I quit smoking the last time). This can and does interfere with exercising. And, unfortunately, I gained a good deal more weight this time around. But I am tired to the bone of being marginalized by the way I look. I want to be once again mentally, emotionally, and physically capable of enjoying every possible good and wonderful thing that life has to offer me. I want to ‘live strong’ again.

So, athletically shod and full of gritty determination, I venture forth yet again into the ‘wilderness of weight loss’. If you’re a kind soul, perhaps you would be so good as to wish me luck. If you are not such a nice person, have the courteously to wait until I pass out of earshot before laughing out loud.

And if I see Brunhilda on the road... Well, let's just say that the tread pattern on my brand new walking shoes would look very nice deeply embossed on her face.

Photo by Nadir Hashmi
http://www.flickr.com/photos/nadircruise/235855066/

Musings on a leaf...

What is the destination of an autumn leaf? Knowing that it is fated to crumble apart and fall into nothingness, does it care whether it lands on rich soft soil that will drink of its essence gratefully, or on the cold, hard pavement that is neither nourished nor burdened by its moldy remains?

I once watched a dead brown leaf drift in a low breeze and twirl across the road. It was buffeted to and fro in an easy rhythm -- one, two, pause, pause, one, two, pause, pause, to the left, to the right, then hanging in mid air. It finally tumbled head over heels and smacked against the curb across the way. It sank there, and seemed to sigh. Was it disappointed? Relieved? Both?

The inquisitive element of my personality might wonder how this tale of an oak leaf’s end mirrors that of the human experience. I can certainly identify with the sense of being knocked to and fro. Inside each brilliant moment, each loosely linked episode of life experience that constitutes the chain of my days here on Earth, I have often held the belief that I was in control of the direction my life was taking. In the back of my mind, however, the quiet but strangely penetrating voice some might call one’s unconscious, always whispered the truth. I am but a leaf afloat on the breeze.

So the question I have is this: when each of us lights down on our final resting place, will we have found someone who will willingly act as our deep soft soil? Someone to love, honor and cherish us and be glad of our existence on this earth? Or will we be alone and forgotten, fated to be left to the tender mercies of the cold, hard pavement of obscurity? And what, if any, control do we have over it all?

Photo by Blue Stone Graphics http://www.flickr.com/photos/bluestonestudios/1195477131/

If you could only pick three...

You know the old ‘personality quiz’ question,

“What three albums would you take with you on a desert island?”

I recently pondered this and it occurred to me that the question never addresses how it is these albums (presumably CD’s) are to be played. If we assume that a CD player is available, what about a power source? There are no power outlets on a desert island – by definition.

Batteries, you say? Okay. So what happens when they die? Oh, rechargeable batteries. Really? And how will you recharge them? Ah, I see. You will take a solar battery charger with you to this isolated little rock in the sea. Good thinking. Well done.

Right. So let’s take stock of things here. We have your three favorite CD’s, a CD player, rechargeable batteries, and a solar battery recharger. Excellent. We’re all set.

Hmm. But if we’re allowing the use of solar powered chargers, why limit it to batteries for your CD player? I mean, really, is that the only thing you can think of that would be useful on an uninhabited sandbar far from civilization? For that matter, why limit yourself to CD’s? I mean, if you have a reliable power supply, why not bring an MP3 player?

And, yes, taking this line of thinking out to its inevitable conclusion, you would eventually get around to including on this list a satellite phone which can be used to call in a rescue party. This, of course, defeats the whole purpose of being marooned on a desert island so you can choose which three albums you want and thereby give the questioner a glimpse into your personality.

So, after letting this question rattle around in my head for a few minutes I’ve come to realize that the whole scenario is completely asinine. Therefore I refuse to participate in such insipid inanity.

P.S. Ahem… But if I did answer the question, it would be Aerosmith’s first album (1973), Santana’s Greatest Hits (1974), and ZZ Top’s Rancho Texicano: The Very Best of ZZ Top (2004). Just sayin’….


Photo by Jonathan_W http://www.flickr.com/photos/s3a/1357093894/