There are things in this world that we all need: a good ten-cent cigar, the love of a good woman, and a loyal dog. But those were back when kids could play outside in the summer until the streetlights came on. Nowadays, things have changed, and we have become more health-conscious. Therefore, every action we take must have a self-benefit attached.
Case in point, once I hit my sixties, I decided, no, was forced to take a look at my health. Being overweight, overmedicated, overstressed, overanxious, over-OCD… let’s face it, I was just over “it” period!
First order of business was to get my insides working correctly. And to do that, I decided to check in with a counselor to see if I was, indeed, crazy. But, alas, I was not; just had some areas on which to work. Mainly, I had to put some people on the scales of justice to see if I could justify them in my life. Many fell out, some held on for dear life, and some of those have had their fingers pried off the lip of the scales and ended up on the floor with the rest of the ones that I decided did not deserve to drive my train.
I had to allow myself to be worthy of the goodness in my life, and that was a biggie since I had never felt that I was worth much in my mind. I was always just a placeholder. I was never the smartest, the best-looking, the nicest… I was just me, nothing special. That is, until I learned that I was special, if not to anyone else but me. And once I realized my self-worth, I saw that others saw value in me. Wow, what counseling can do for a person! Not only that, but it helped with my anxiety and OCD, which were just bonus side dishes on this meal called better mental health.
That was my first year…
My next venture to self-discovery was to start working on my exterior. I decided to shed some weight. Researching miracles, since I had been overweight since first grade and had tried almost every fad diet and starvation method I could muster, I decided to do some serious searching and see what was feasible, within my reach, and would make me accountable. I was on a collision course with Weight Watchers, or WW as it was called at the time.
On a Thursday night in April, the stars and planets all aligned, and the star in the east led me to the Hampton Inn for my first WW meeting. I quietly walked into the room, which already held about 15 strangers, and presented my overweight self to the person behind the desk who was about to have me step on a landmine—the scales of doom!
276 pounds of big boy goodness stepped off the scales, and with a face that was some color of embarrassment, I realized that I had let myself get that far into the world of food addiction. Yes, I was a quarter pounder prostitute, a foodaholic, just a big old mess. I sat in the corner and thought there was no way that I was going to reach the weight that I said I wanted to achieve as my goal. But I did the plan, counted my points, drank my water, and the next week… I had started the chance of a lifetime to actually do a plan that did not leave me hungry, or eat rabbit food, or never be able to have a meal out… This was working!
Between those strangers becoming family, learning to eat healthy, and ditching the southern indoctrination of cleaning your plate so the children of that foreign country would not starve, I started to see my body change. New clothes, parts of my body I had not seen in years, all were enticements to continue on this weight journey.
Now at 190 pounds, I see myself differently in the mirror. I always saw the fat kid before, but now I just see a thinner, healthier version of myself. I feel better than I have in years. So, thanks WW, Paula, Janice, and all my WW family for being there for me.
Next up was toning the excess skin and getting my body into a shape that I wanted to see. And along came Glenda and the wonderful world of yoga!
What started as maybe going to see what the hype was, turned into being in a class and thinking how much I hated this. However, as the evening wrapped up, I felt great about stepping outside my comfort zone and engaging in an activity that was beneficial for me physically and mentally. Admittedly, some parts of the experience seemed a little odd, but that was mainly because, as a southern-raised male, I was not accustomed to delving into my inner emotions. I remember thinking to myself, “If we start chanting, I’m out of here!”
But we did not chant, we worked our bodies and learned how to focus our minds to seek better care of both by not building muscle, but by teaching our bodies how to stretch and to realize just how magnificent and amazing our bodies truly are! Now, having been in yoga for nearly a year, I can see less chicken fat flopping around, I can get out of bed easier in the mornings, and have even been back on the stage since now I am not ashamed of how I look plus, feel in shape to participate in productions that I would have never thought of doing due to the physicality of being on stage in my sixties!
But, for some reason, I just cannot get my head around meditation. To sit and find my space and clear my mind and do nothing just scares the hell out of me! Sounds like death to me. My mind is never still. I am either seeing mental movies in my head from above my body, looking down at myself so I can critique myself as I lie in bed at night when I am supposed to be sleeping. Or, I am hearing my life’s soundtrack in my head that does tangos with my emotions since I connect music and emotions on the same dance card. So to sit, maybe okay. To clear my mind? Not a chance.
Meditation will be my next work in progress, along with bike riding. Maybe doing both at the same time… hmm, what a concept!
Now to the last point of this piece: colonoscopy. Actually, there is no snarky repartee about it. If you have not had one, get one. If you have had one, bless your heart or the other end, since that is where it all takes place. I just thought it would grab attention in the title since we humans and bathroom humor… well, enough said.
This was/is me. What I came from to what you see before you now. An independent southern Baptist indoctrinated with so many southernisms and demands on what I was supposed to be, to become the butterfly of an independent thinker, a lover of life and love in whatever shape or form that fits, and a cheerleader for the underdog. Damn, what a job discrimination! But I’m so glad I applied for the position!
And that’s the way I see it!
A View From Bogaville 