Whose Birthday Is It?

It’s my 46th birthday tomorrow. Now I know what 46 looks like. And I also don’t know what it looks like. When I was contemplating this post, I had an idea of what I meant by that- that I don’t know what it looks like. As I compose, much more depth, and access to a completely different perspective on what that means are materializing…

I got a copy of Dr. Abravanel’s Body Type Diet on Naughty Zoot’s recommendation. One of the ways to identify your body type is to look at drawings of various body types and select that which resembles you. As I looked through, I was so irritated that I had no idea which of these detailed drawings I most resembled. I thought, “Oh, crap, now I’ll have to read through ALL of it, then go back and match my body to the drawing.” I put the book aside, intending to “get back to it” this weekend.

Here’s the thing I just got- My God- how disconnected and unrelated I am to my own body, in which I have lived, on which I have depended, for 46 years, and I don’t know what it looks like. Next- how willing I am to put off anything that has to do with my well-being (particularly fitness). I had a cholesterol screening this morning, and I am HOPING it will turn out better than last year. I hardly did anything to ensure that that would be the case.

There’s more- this is how I lose power: I lose the power that is natural for a magnificent and radiant woman because I don’t pay attention to who that is, to what she looks like, to what it takes to maintain her optimum fitness. What a loss, what a disservice. Self- love, full , unconditional, and unadulterated, is the restorative for power.

And I don’t know what 46 looks like. This is the year : the year of my power, of my beauty, of my presence to and acknowledgement of what I can create. This is the year of blank canvas. This is MY year, and this is my beginning.
I’ll know my body type by next week, I will be in action around it, and I am here, paintbrush in hand.