SCALES – and I don’t mean fish scales!
For me, life is much simpler in the winter. The warm, sun drenched island of Vieques is my winter retreat nirvana. Island living, in a casita of four rooms, is basic. As in, the bedroom has a bed and two nightstands. The kitchen/living area has an apartment size refrigerator, a Mabe stove (which maybe works), a love-seat and a chair. The concrete picnic table is outside. You get it – our sweet suite is a one sweep clean up! No so much with the things.
Each item that makes its way in has been considered: do we need? how important? termite proof? No deprivation here – just careful thought. This is probably why we have no scale. The kind you stand on and your body weight is displayed. We, also, have no bathtub or coffee table. No big deal, right?
In the Caribbean, I snorkel, teach yoga a few mornings a week, work most days oil painting, eat reasonably, read a boatload of books and spend time with people I love. I am okay with me, feel good and grateful for the depth of radiance during winter.
Transition from simple to more than simple revealed a Lomo (bump). I learn my Spanish from road signs.
Did I mention I’m a Cape Cod girl? Just a few years ago, spending too many months in the gray swirls of weather and being as damp as a fog soaked sweatshirt. (If you live on the Cod, you know that’s bone chilling wet and another story). April found me back on the not yet sunny, or warm shores of the Cape. I was happy to be spending time with my family and, become reacquainted with my comfy barn home. I must admit, I was overly impressed with sleeping on the firm yet plush heavenly mattress. Our home in Massachusetts has 2 TV’s, an art and music room, luxurious red Oriental carpet, a washer/dryer and dishwasher! Did I mention a sectional couch and Japanese square dinner plates?
And in the bathroom, a digital scale. After a few days of reentry and scrubbing the callousy bottoms of my feet after a Hot shower (another yum), I STEPPED ON THE SCALE.
Really? Is it broken? Boom, I don’t feel so good about me.
I quickly devise a plan – no more eating – I grab a roll of flesh – I stand sideways in the mirror – and I really need a piece of chocolate – or pizza – I’m plummeting – my fiendish brain is awake and spewing – I’m wishing i did not have this new information. After all, why is my happiness dictated by a number? How can a measuring device wreak so much havoc on my self esteem? What is important here? I know I am healthy. This expectation I created for me is not new. This is an old story. ‘THE READING’ has me questioning seemingly unrelated facets of my life. Will I still be loved, respected if I am oversized? Excuse me, by who? I love and respect me – When did this become not enough? Apparently, the moment I registered a numerical weight. What is overweight? A standard emphasized by other regular human beings, who may or may not have my optimal health as a goal?
I am a practitioner of loving kindness long enough to know, in my heart, that self compassion and acceptance is the beginning of a true practice. Standing on a scale negates my worth so quickly and efficiently, it deserves my attention. My chance to change the way I think. What is the truth?
As I weed my way around the things that no longer serve me – I’m ready to part ways and weighs with the little digital device that can still send me spinning. I’ll keep you posted on the break up. Jeez