First there was this idea we had, about posting what you might call my before and after pictures. Then there were my cold feet, my feeling that I didn’t want to divide my life like that, with a big line separating who I was from who I am–that I didn’t want to set up some artificial dichotomy between the body I used to have, and the body I have now. And then there was the brilliant idea: what if they aren’t befores and what if there’s no such thing as an after? What if we looked at the pictures we take, during the course of our lives, as a history of our bodies, and told those stories?
And then, let’s just be crazy for a second. Let’s consider the possibility that maybe we’d sit back and see that the bodies we carry around under our heads–that we sometimes subject to so much abuse, both mental and physical–are…I’m not going to say beautiful, or precious, or worthy of our respect, or anything that’s going to make you gag on your coffee, no (though maybe we can secretly agree that it’s true, and keep our slick, ironic hipster fronts all solidly up and shiny). What I’ll say is maybe…us. That our bodies are not things to pummel into shape, to punish for not being perfect, to hate or reward or feel ashamed of, or someday finalize. They’re us, right now, and they were us then and whatever we do to them, that’s still what we’ve got and that can be a depressing thought, or it can be something to just be goddamn grateful for.
There was this idea, and now, here is the execution–and it’s even awesomer than I ever could have hoped it would be. You guys are even more awesome than I knew you were, and I already thought you were pretty damn awesome.
Look, and comment, and yes, Teri! I still want pictures, for sure, please, yes. So if you’ve got a story to share, e-mail me.