Do you know how long I’ve been writing Body of Work? It’s been a very long time–almost two years in February. When I started, I was still recovering from weight-loss surgery, even four months out. I was exhausted, feeling weak and strange and absolutely exhilarated, as my body seemed to change with every single blink. I was dropping weight in enormous chunks, and my clothes were starting to fit really differently, and while I had always known what a major decision I had made, what a major step I had taken, I was just then starting to grasp the great and irreversible change that had happened, and only then starting to realize what it meant.
And then I met you guys. I started to write about this, and my body, and my shifting weight and my weird relationship with my weird and newly rearranged self, and what it would mean to be fat and then not fat, what it had meant to be obese and what it would mean for me to not be, anymore. How I fit into the world, who I was, how I would start defining myself, when I could no longer tick “Fat” off the list. How I would dress and eat and take care of myself, and how I would stop myself from going absolutely batshit from everything that was happening, and so quickly. And you guys read my posts, from the goofy to the angsty, and you have always, always been there to tell me when I had nailed something, when I was on the right track, when I was wrong and crazy, when I should, maybe, think about not being so hard on myself.
Some days, it has come really easy, and there has been so much to talk
about, and we will never run out of things to say. And then some days,
I get pretty sick of myself. Some days, I wonder about this whole
blogging thing–it feels like the pinnacle of narcissism, to assume that
my feelings about bikes and bodies and booty slapping is in any way
relevant or important to the world at large. It feels a little silly,
it feels a little self-indulgent.
And then some days, it feels hard, to put myself out there. I do my
damnedest to be completely forthright–I am not sharing every detail of
my life, but pretty close to it. My moods, my depressions, my tiny
obsessions, my tiny and larger and largest doubts. The shit I freak out
about. Sometimes, I feel like I’m not providing a very accurate
portrait of myself, because each entry is only a sliver of my life, and
then sometimes, I feel like I am saying entirely too much, every single
weekday for almost two years, now.
I love what I do. I love this. I am lucky to have a sounding board,
even when I use it to sound whiny. I love having you guys out there
reading, confirming some things, striking down other things, keeping me
sane and honest. I wanted to not go to yoga this morning, because
truly, no one on earth has ever been as tired as me and how could I
make myself even tireder? But I went, and that is entirely due to your
encouragement, for seriously. And I am exhausted, but I know, again,
thanks to you, that it will get better. And I was excited to say “I
went! How cool is that? We are all bad-asses.” And that is one of the
best things in my life.
But a little break will do me good, I think. Next week I’ll be in San
Francisco for my friend’s beautiful wedding, hopefully dressed
appropriately. I will be seeing people I have missed like whoa,
reconnecting with people who have been gone from my life for too long
and eating a whole lot of food that I have been longing for. I will go
put my feet in the ocean and then put a lot of Manhattans in my face.
And I won’t be posting, for the week. It’ll be a lovely relief, and I
will be very excited and relaxed the first few days and a little
nostalgic the last few days and then on Sunday night, my posts will be
filled with many, many capital letters because I will be so excited to
I’ll miss you guys! For reals. And I’ll be back soon.