I grew up with a mother who likes to analyze everything, who processes her life by talking about every speck of it, and so I have also become a person who is deeply introspective and fairly self-aware. I have come to measure my life not in terms of my accomplishments, but rather in terms of how I've progressed internally. In Chicago, I fostered my love of music, got in touch with my inner environmentalist, and planted the foodie seed. In North Carolina, I embraced my inner hippie, lost the urgency to get married and have kids, and discovered the value of having friends who are more like me. In DC, I became the independent outdoorswoman I am today. I learned the difference between the fantasies I wanted for my life and the realities that are much more suited to who I am. I struggled with tasks and forced myself to dig into them instead of taking the easy way out, accepting that sometimes just-good-enough isn't good enough. I discovered that I could open up to someone and love so deeply, and then heal more completely when that love went away. I identified the issues that have been holding me back for so long, like my reliance on other peoples' ideas instead of forming my own, and I learned to tell a select few people some deeply personal things that I have only just begun to accept for myself. I discovered that we are all flawed, and that it's okay to be flawed, and that being open about your flaws will not make people automatically dislike you. In the past 3+ years, I have made great strides - I think I had to move past a lot of things in my mind before I could move to a new place on this planet.
But we are all a work in progress, and I always have to have a project. The new one that will follow me to Boise is not a unique one: I don't like my body. In my mind and deep under my layers of cellulite lies a person who is toned and muscular and strong. I feel it in my muscles and in my bones. But my genes work against me, those eastern European Jewish genes that panic at the mere suggestion that it might be cold outside or that I might have to subsist on rations, and so no matter how strictly I count calories, limit carbs, pile on the fresh fruits and veggies and low-fat protein, bike, run, swim, hike, lift weights, do yoga, and get a full 8 hours of sleep, I maintain a layer of padding all over, especially on my stomach and hips. No matter how much I tell my D-cup breasts to get smaller, they just hang there and get in the way, those uncomfortable globs of fat that draw unwanted attention, which I would happily reduce to half of their size or less. I don't snack or eat lots of unhealthy things or fill emotional holes with food, and I am active. I am a healthy person, strong and decently fit, but this body I have is not my own. I have a very womanly hourglass figure for which I get a fair amount of attention from men, but I have never, ever felt like a woman. In my mind, I am not woman, and not really man either, just someone with a strong, fit, capable body with little body fat and no curves. Some people can change their bodies in drastic ways, like training two hours every day (or longer) or hiring a good plastic surgeon. I could kill myself at the gym and restrict every ounce of food I eat like an Olympian, but even with less body fat and more muscles, I cannot escape the physiology, like my short stature, knock-knees and wide hips, that will always betray my gender, and I am limited in my physical abilities by my asthma. Part of it may be my desk-job lifestyle - I'm sure I would prefer a more physically active job, but while I have student loans and a yearning for intellectual stimulation, working full-time in a job that fulfills my need to constantly move my body is not a viable option, doing it part-time will not suffice, and I don't want to wear my body out prematurely.
My angst is not inspired by those beauty magazines, which I don't read, nor by the models, actresses, and the women in my life, all of whom I admire for their talents, personality, quirks, and unique beauty. I don't look in the mirror and say, "I am fat" or "I hate my body." I don't feel pressure to be skinny, I don't think that I am unlovable because of my body shape, I don't feel that I am less of a person for how I look, and I would certainly never take on anything so drastic that could damage my body. I know that I am not a large person and that my size and weight is considered average and healthy. It's not vanity, it's a genuine physical discomfort. I don't look outside the way I feel inside, and my efforts so far to shed the padding that makes life often physically uncomfortable have been mostly unsuccessful. I need to find a way to connect my inner self with my outer self, to accept what I am and find a way to move past this. Unlike the other obstacles I have surmounted, this is not just a struggle with my mind, that abstract and intangible entity; there is a physical dimension to this project, and I fear that like many other women, it may be something I work on my whole life. But I figured out ways to work through other issues, and I'll figure out this one too.
