one year ago, i was waiting, waiting for the arrival of my son. he was a mystery, yet i knew him all along. a year later, he tries to climb his sister in attempts to plant drooly kisses all over her face. she screams no ziggy! leave me alone! and when he leaves her alone she says, do it again!
he is nearly one. soon, i will write a letter to him, and i promise you it will be wistful and sappy. because it has been a year of knowing him all along. every new day with my boy is the deja vu of a long-dreamed dream. i’ve known him all my life.
a year later, i am equally centered and scattered. i spend my days trying to make peace with the pace of my life. at work yesterday, i was asked, “what motivates you?” and i answered: meaning. mindfulness. i recognize that i spend much of my actual life at work. if i cannot change that reality, what do i do with it? i choose to make all those hours mean something. i choose to be positive. authentic. present. compassionate. if i can be those things, and inspire those things, the time away from my family is redeemed.
a year later, i temper the frenetic pace of my life with steady running. i am slow, but consistent. and my stamina steadily improves. i have always hated to run, mostly because of my lack of stamina. until very recently, i could not run a mile. a few months ago, i figured out my problem: i was going too fast. i started out like a shot, but couldn’t maintain the pace. my chest burned; my legs buckled.
when i began to take the proverbial “slow and steady” approach, the mile became doable almost immediately. and once the mile was doable, i felt like i could call myself a person who runs. i’m no runner (yet), but i do run. and i have never felt so present in my own body as when i run. my kid-self remembers running with abandon until my hair smelled like wind. she is so pleased with me.
my body is still soft around the middle–with unwelcome extra skin loitering on my hips and belly–but she is awake. this is the first time in my adult life that i have fit into a size 6 without a) having an ulcer that made it nearly impossible to eat, or b) having an eating disorder.
i am proud to publicly say that i am healthy. i eat responsibly. i drink moderately. my body is simply content with how i’m treating her. for the first time ever, we’re not at war with each other. finally.