The Weight of the World, At Least of Mine

I am not a vain person.  My favorite places to buy clothes are EBay and Goodwill.  I can’t remember the last time there was something on my feet that didn’t have a Crocs emblem. (Ok, so I have a broken toe and can only comfortably wear a particular pair of flip flops, but still…)  I get my hair cut at Super Cuts.  I only shave my legs once a week.  I’ve never, and I mean NEVER, plucked a single eyebrow.  Not a single one.

So why am I suddenly so obsessed by my weight?

As I’ve reached menopause, I’ve put on a few pounds.  I’ve lost my rear end, it either fell off somewhere while I wasn’t looking or was run over by a steamroller.  Whatever was there, however, was somehow recovered and relocated to my belly.  At the age of 46, 3 weeks from 47, my body apparently figured out I had long past puberty and for the first time in my life I have breasts larger than those of a 12 year old boy.  The result of all this?  The wardrobe I had so thoughtfully put together with my wins on EBay no longer fit me.  Six months ago, I had a blazer collection to die for.  Tonight, I made myself get rid of all those things I could no longer button, and, well, I don’t think you can call one blazer that only closes if I hold my breath a collection.

A couple months ago I had come to terms with my body.  I started getting rid of tight clothing and buying stuff bigger.  I actually own more than one bra, and I didn’t have to buy them in the little girls department.  I accepted that I was getting older.  My husband claims I look better (though I’m not sure I’m really buying that, I do know he loves me anyways).

And then a few weeks ago, my mother came over.  My 70 year old mother, who is 3 inches taller than me.  “Mom, wow, did you lose weight?”

“Yes, you are the only one to notice!  I weigh XYZ pounds!”

XYZ pounds.  Hmmphh!  3 inches taller and 10 pounds less.  She is 70, she is supposed to be heavier than me.  And, well, she always has been.  I’ve always been the thin one in the family.  Then she adds that my sister lost weight too.  It’s not supposed to be this way!

So, yes, I am 20 pounds more than I’ve been for most of my life, 20 pounds more than the weight I was in high school.  Heck, 40 pounds more than when I was training for a marathon.  (How was I even healthy then!)  And I don’t know whether to accept it or obsess over it.  I eat good, I’m not even sure what I can change.  In the past week I’ve hardly eaten, but the scale hasn’t even moved. 

Last night, I bought some larger tops on EBay.  Tonight, I put my too small blazers in a bag and put them in the car to take to Goodwill.  Tomorrow I’ll still watch every calorie I eat.

Growing old.  That’s why they have wine!  Wine gets better with age, somehow I need to accept that people do too, even if we are more full bodied!

Why My Vote Is Not Wasted

Let’s take a little quiz.

If you told your child a good serving was 2 brownies, and instead they ate 10, would you:

1.  Never make brownies again and start a campaign to make brownies illegal.

2.  Complain that now there is no way everyone in the family could have an equal amount of brownies because there were only 12 to begin with, and make more brownies.

3.  Tell your child to eat the other 2 brownies so you could put the plate in the dishwasher, knowing that if he wasn’t already sick to his stomach, he would be then, and would learn his lesson.

My answer, I would pick #3.  He might not get it right away.  Heck, he might even do it again, maybe a few times.   Eventually, however, he will understand that maybe things need to change, maybe always doing the same things the same way just gets us to the same consequences.   That maybe he should do things differently if he wants a different outcome.

And to that end, when I vote Libertarian, it is not a vote “wasted” as many like to say. There is a purpose to what I do. I know that there will be no immediate dramatic change.  I know there will not be some sense of satisfaction of being on the “winning” side.  I know that the result of my actions will not in any way give me any sort of credit, not even in the long run.  I get it. 

I, however, also know that I am planting a seed or two or three.  A seed that shows there is an option other than the status quo.  A seed that shows the establishment that not everyone is happy with their representation.  A seed that helps others to understand that it’s OK to vote based on what they actually believe instead of if there is an R or a D next to a name.  A seed that shows my child that it’s perfectly alright to still like a team that you know will probably lose, if that is who stands for who you are.   

One day, those seeds will grow into a mature tree with more than 2 branches. That day may not be until my child is grown.  It may not even be in my lifetime.  But it will come.  And so I will continue to nourish that sapling and vote my conscious, and to have the peace that I did not settle for someone I did not believe in.

The only vote wasted is the one that is not cast.  One day we'll be able to have a viable choice that is not just the lesser of two evils.

Until then, that’s why they have wine.