Great Expectations

Husband and I celebrate five years of wedded bliss this December.  With the big day comes big plans.  We are hoping for a romantic getaway to celebrate.

We were ambitious a few years ago.  We talked about returning to the South Pacific to commemorate the five year mark.  Or maybe something new, like a two week long tour of New Zealand, Iceland or South Africa.  A lot has happened between then and now; some good, some bad.  The economy, my health, our dogs, our house, etc.  We have adjusted our expectations and instead will be driving to our destination of choice.  It won’t be as hokey as it sounds.  Being smack dab in the middle of Northern California we are within driving distance of many amazing, unforgettable places.  Places people the world over take on great expense and effort to visit.

I want to be sassy and confident, and drop fifteen pounds for this special getaway.   I want Husband to look at me, to desire me over those four or five days, is if I’m the hottest thing to ever hit the earth.  I will see it in his eyes and actions, no matter what.  But I want to feel it.

I have a problem.  I don’t think it will happen.

I feel like a biological disaster.

I want to somehow channel that hard, healthy body I enjoyed when I was twenty-five.  Before lupus.  Before chronic pain.  Before all this crap that has taken over my life. 

I sometimes pull out my old clothes, hold them up and say to myself “God, I used to fit into that?!?!?”  It’s exasperating.  I wish I can look on the bright side.  My super skinny days weren’t all that.  I had no ass and no energy.  Okay, I still don’t have any energy, but you get my point.  People used to look at me with sympathy.  I didn’t know what it meant until much later. 

I was happy when I abandoned extremes and found some measure of self love, put on a few needed pounds and found my happy weight.  I estimate I’m probably ten pounds above that number right now.  But I want to lose even more, to see if I can do it.  Because I know how intoxicating it will be if I do.

I know it’s wrong to believe ten or fifteen pounds will make the difference.   That it will make or break the experience of our time together, and all the love and celebration that comes with it.  It angers me that the state of my ass, boobs, and waistline matter, how each one holds a certain power.  Why is it so hard to accept what I have?  That it is all beautiful and worthy of love?

The way I see it, I have two choices.  I can set ridiculous, lofty goals to barely eat and exercise way more than I should, to somehow morph my nearly forty something body into the one I had at 25, and do it all without the resources of a Hollywood starlet.  Or I can work on accepting what is, because what is really is fabulous, plus or minus fifteen.  He likes it.  He tells me every day, every chance he gets.   I need to keep working on the self-acceptance thing and get on board.

I don’t want to be controlled by the numbers on a scale, and lose sight of all that is good in my life, how when it all comes down to it I really have so many of the things I dreamed about as a young girl, like passion, love and possibility.

Despite all the wisdom, the knowing what is right and what is wrong and how I should feel about myself, I still don’t know what I will choose.  But I start today, with healthy, clean eating and exercise. 

Let’s see where my plan, and my emotions, take me.

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