Shapes
Now that I'm taking an official hiatus from the two most diabolical weapons of procrastination in my life, Youtube and Facebook, I have decided to start blogging again. I love to write, but I am also terrible at finishing entries. Many times, I get inspired to write about something, and I clack away for a good hour or so. But then, I get distracted midsentence, and the train of thought gets stuck in its tracks, and the poor unfinished entry remains under Drafts. And there it stays until I either finish it with a lame sentence or two (which is what I did with the last entry..hehe), or I delete it altogether.
So hopefully that horrible fate does not await this entry.
I named this post "Shapes". I suppose the word is fascinating to me because it is used in so many different ways. Especially when it comes to people. Today was probably the most beautiful day of the year thus far: 60 degrees and sunny in early February. What did mankind do to deserve that?! And just like a chubby (yet cute!) bear waking up from her deep, comfortable winter slumber, I was thrilled to smell spring around the corner. But it also dawned upon me that quite frankly, I was not ready for the spring! I was not ready to shed my layers of clothing and get a nice tan! I was - and the thought came before I could stop myself - out of shape.
Ah.. there's that word. Shape. And I am out of it. Logically, that would be impossible since everything that has mass and takes up space should have some type of shape. So when I say I'm out of shape, it does not mean I've transcended from the physical to the metaphysical realm. But what it really means is that I'm not in the right shape.
I believe I have preached loud and proud against allowing media to define us, and celebrities to be our physical role models. I know the argument inside and out. I also know what makes guys and girls "attractive" upon first glance, and why so many Americans pay millions each year for gym memberships. Health is attractive. (I would much rather watch a petite girl eat a nice California Cobb salad than an obese girl down a few burgers, and of course the same thing for guys...even though I wouldn't stare at a guy eat..that's just a bit stalkerish and creepy...well maybe it's the same with girls too.. fine I'm odd.)
But anyways, why am I saying all this? I don't quite know. It's just that everywhere I look today I am reminded of my own sub-par health regiment. True I don't overeat, and I'm quite normal in regards to weight and health. But why did these jeans (which fit so perfectly a few days ago) seem just a bit too tight and unflattering today? And why does my granola mix look more like just another addition to my daily calorie count instead of a heart-healthy alternative to cookies and milk? My sudden urge to join the women's softball team was the last straw, and I decided to sit down and write a long entry about why we are so obsessed about shaping ourselves into the closest representation of perfection when our concept of perfection is flawed to begin with!
My shape, I have decided, is average. What does that mean? It means that no matter how many bikini models beam down at me from the glossy magazines and declare that "You can look like this too in 8 easy steps!", I probably can't look like them no matter how many steps I take. Neither should I want to because my shape simply won't allow it. (Cause if it did, then I'd be the one on the magazine). These are just simple facts. But what do I do with this knowledge? Cry and starve myself and perform those 8 steps over and over again? Do I become bitter and self-loathing and form a hard "I don't care about how I look" shell that simply hides my extreme vulnerability? Or do I grow up, finally, after years of longing and hoping and striving and pride mixed with fear at ever compliment? Do I let it finally roll off my shoulders and begin to settle into the shape that I was lovingly formed in?
So with all this said, I will still run once (maybe twice!) a week, do a few hundred crunches here and there, and try to stay away from Joe's Best Burger's fries (with mango chutney sauce..mmm). But what I will really try to do is to stop wasting time and energy lamenting the shape that I come in.
So hopefully that horrible fate does not await this entry.
I named this post "Shapes". I suppose the word is fascinating to me because it is used in so many different ways. Especially when it comes to people. Today was probably the most beautiful day of the year thus far: 60 degrees and sunny in early February. What did mankind do to deserve that?! And just like a chubby (yet cute!) bear waking up from her deep, comfortable winter slumber, I was thrilled to smell spring around the corner. But it also dawned upon me that quite frankly, I was not ready for the spring! I was not ready to shed my layers of clothing and get a nice tan! I was - and the thought came before I could stop myself - out of shape.
Ah.. there's that word. Shape. And I am out of it. Logically, that would be impossible since everything that has mass and takes up space should have some type of shape. So when I say I'm out of shape, it does not mean I've transcended from the physical to the metaphysical realm. But what it really means is that I'm not in the right shape.
I believe I have preached loud and proud against allowing media to define us, and celebrities to be our physical role models. I know the argument inside and out. I also know what makes guys and girls "attractive" upon first glance, and why so many Americans pay millions each year for gym memberships. Health is attractive. (I would much rather watch a petite girl eat a nice California Cobb salad than an obese girl down a few burgers, and of course the same thing for guys...even though I wouldn't stare at a guy eat..that's just a bit stalkerish and creepy...well maybe it's the same with girls too.. fine I'm odd.)
But anyways, why am I saying all this? I don't quite know. It's just that everywhere I look today I am reminded of my own sub-par health regiment. True I don't overeat, and I'm quite normal in regards to weight and health. But why did these jeans (which fit so perfectly a few days ago) seem just a bit too tight and unflattering today? And why does my granola mix look more like just another addition to my daily calorie count instead of a heart-healthy alternative to cookies and milk? My sudden urge to join the women's softball team was the last straw, and I decided to sit down and write a long entry about why we are so obsessed about shaping ourselves into the closest representation of perfection when our concept of perfection is flawed to begin with!
My shape, I have decided, is average. What does that mean? It means that no matter how many bikini models beam down at me from the glossy magazines and declare that "You can look like this too in 8 easy steps!", I probably can't look like them no matter how many steps I take. Neither should I want to because my shape simply won't allow it. (Cause if it did, then I'd be the one on the magazine). These are just simple facts. But what do I do with this knowledge? Cry and starve myself and perform those 8 steps over and over again? Do I become bitter and self-loathing and form a hard "I don't care about how I look" shell that simply hides my extreme vulnerability? Or do I grow up, finally, after years of longing and hoping and striving and pride mixed with fear at ever compliment? Do I let it finally roll off my shoulders and begin to settle into the shape that I was lovingly formed in?
So with all this said, I will still run once (maybe twice!) a week, do a few hundred crunches here and there, and try to stay away from Joe's Best Burger's fries (with mango chutney sauce..mmm). But what I will really try to do is to stop wasting time and energy lamenting the shape that I come in.
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