A Plan to Love Your Body – Worry About Other Things Instead
A new Nordstrom’s Rack clothing store opened up in my neighborhood. I discovered something so exciting; there is a designer line of shirts that fit in size XL. Alberto Makali. Made in China. (Fine, everything is from China.) It’s truly exciting to find comparatively cheap, yet high-quality clothing with buttons I can close. It was enough for me to throw out all my scratchy, ugly polyester clothing from Kohl’s that was too small in the first place. I was thrilled to pitch t-shirts that are made more for Hannah Montana than an older gal like me. What was I thinking?
But clothing has never defined me so I can’t say that I ever threw away tons of old pairs of size 6 pants and dresses. Nor have I been a yo-yo dieter. I’ve just appeared big all my life. That’s because I am. I stand 5’11” tall and weigh 185 pounds. And each of my fifty plus years on this planet has added on a few more pounds. (That pesky thyroid condition hasn’t helped, nor has the para-menapausal thingy. Awe, yes, the pause that refreshes. Can somebody get me a cold glass of water? Then go ahead and throw it at me.)
How can I be concerned anymore about my ever-expanding epicenter? There’s just too much else that’s sucking up my somewhat already fried brainwaves. Oh, I don’t know, things like aging, indigestion, men issues (intimacy – not one of my things), global warming, Lehman Brothers, dying, animal cruelty and Sara Palin. As I mature (hate that) things like my mortality start to take a front seat, and…oh, money.
The main thing that has caused me to stop thinking about my big fat ass is worries about my big, fat somewhat empty wallet. I balance my Chase Premiere banking account by going to an ATM and seeing if I have anything in it. Not good. Not according to Suze Orman. Suze is my new hero. I bought her audio program, Women and Money and I found out that I am not alone. 97% of all successful women (okay, I’m doin’ alright) are worried that someday they will end up bag ladies. Thank god I’m not alone.
There you have it. I’ve finally replaced one big fat worry with another. I hope this gives hope to young women everywhere. Someday you will get older and stop worry about how many calories you just consumed in that Burger King Steak sandwich, and start obsessing about how low your ass is hanging to the ground. Then that next pesky question creeps in; can you avoid becoming that person that check people’s receipts at the exit of your local WalMart?
I wish I could be more inspiring, talking about how I love myself and my body type to the core of my being. Some days I actually am okay with the way I look. I no longer need to be stick thin, competing for roles in Hollywood, like the old days of my short-lived career as a minor luminary in Hollywood. (I starred in a few films out there, but never got a big break because I was always too fat. Actresses in Hollywood I went up against for roles rarely ate. Me, I refused to give up my potato chip obsession so gals like Daryl Hannah and Heather Locklear got parts instead of me. Boo hoo.)
Now, I’m just older and wiser. I mildly obsess over my age and my bank account. One is up and the other is down. Isn’t that like life? Isn’t that the point – that there are good days and bad?
It feels mind-bendingly freeing to get over the damn crisis of how my buttocks looks in a pair of jeans. I can’t control my ass anymore. It has its own agenda. Like gravity. It sucks. Life doesn’t. I know deep down that worrying about anything is useless. Being miserable about something will never make it better, never make that thing go away. It’s all fleeting. Now I live for today…and that new extra-large silky, Alberto Makali blouse from Nordstom’s. (You gotta’ love a bargain.) You should see me in it. I’m hot!
