Once written, I never read my posts. However, this morning I started glancing through them (why? I do not know) and I kept thinking, "When did I become a victim? I'm whiny, and intolerant, and I don't really like the person writing here."
I think it's time for a change of attitude. I also think it's time for me to stop focusing on all the things I dislike and start finding things in life that I love.
1. I love the fact that I can walk again.
2. I'm very glad that I get to go to the gym and work out this morning.
3. I'm making dinner with bok choy tonight. I've never done that before. I think it will be fun.
4. I'm almost finished with tax prep for the year.
5. Soon I will have new carpet in my house--and since I've been wanting this for more than a decade, it's very exciting.
Wait. I just thought of something else I want to write about.
Yesterday my sister posted a picture on Facebook. It was taken a long time ago and all my sisters were in it. I look like I'm about fourteen, and if my hair was white, I could pose for a barrister in Britain. Also, the clothes were absolutely delightful. I laughed when I saw it and tried to share it (unsucessfully, because my Facebook settings are ridiculous about privacy right now) with some close friends...
If you know me at all, you will understand why this is monumental.
If you know me at all, you will know that I have not shared photos showing me between age 12 to the present. I began showing current photos online about six years ago. And if someone else posted a picture of me taken prior to that, but after I was twelve, I removed the tag and refused to let it be seen publicly.
It had nothing to do with being ashamed of how I looked and everything to do with not being able to look at myself. It made me uncomfortable. My brain would say, "That's you," but I couldn't feel that it was true. The person in the picture was a stranger--a person completely detached from me, and her life had nothing to do with mine.
But my sister posted the picture--and I REMEMBERED! I remembered being that person and having that hair and wearing those clothes. I don't really recall much more about that time, but when my brain said, "That's you," I responded, "Yes! Yes, it is! Look how funny I was! Look at my sisters! That's a picture of me with them!"
And then I cried, of course, because it was a little confusing and overwhelming and sad and happy all at once. I'm pretty sure all this sounds ridiculously trivial, but to me it's enormous because I saw myself and I knew it was me--and I wanted to share that part of me with someone else.
It's a pretty big deal. You can take my word for this.