A small dose…

JJ’s away at the moment, very far away. And for 6 weeks. So far, so long, so miss him…

So, along with work, study, seeing friends and walking the pooches, it’s given me a bit of time to think. Ordinarily, thinking isn’t always a pleasant experience for me, because the mind goes into overdrive and all sorts of funny little voices take over the airwaves (literally). But this time, the thinking seems to have taken on a very different form altogether. It’s not all pleasurable, but it’s mostly satisfying. I’ve worked on the finances, having formed a few ideas that JJ has also agreed with, but there are other bits that I’m still working out. For example:

I was listening to a podcast, an interview with a couple of life coaches, and one of them said that one of the areas she wanted to manage was her mornings. She likes to “wake up slowly”. Now who the hell wouldn’t want to do that? But how do you do that when you’re working a full time, demanding desk job?

And then, I realised, as I’m sure we all do at some point, that I spend more time in the company of people who I could give a rat’s ass about – my colleagues – working on things that I could give and equally meagre rat’s ass about – my desk-based work – so that I can make money to pay my bills. Sure, I also make money so that I can enjoy a lovely lifestyle, go on holidays, buy nice things, have nice dinners and all that, BUT SERIOUSLY what’s the point of all that if I can’t spend a lot more time with those people that I give a big fat cow’s ass about?

How would I choose to spend my days? Well the reality is that I do enjoy working, being challenged, solving problems and whatever. But at what cost?

So this is my mid-life crisis point. I seriously think that it comes a hell of a lot earlier for those of us who don’t have children. From what I gather, once children are in the picture, you know your purpose. But when you don’t have any, you start to question your purpose. Is it to work 50 hours a week so you can spend 2 days cleaning, doing the groceries, washing laundry and the like so that you’re ready to do the weekday thing all over again?

So anyway, I’ve started studying life coaching. And it’s altogether satisfying. I’m stunned.

And then I came to a realisation yesterday that for well over half of my life, I’ve wanted to be skinny. I mean, I’ve starved, vomited and obsessed my way toward that goal. And I’ve achieved at various stages and with varying degrees of success and failure. I mean, what a load of rubbish. So I’m not modelesque and will never look as good in Marc Jacobs as Winona. But who the hell wants to live that level of maintenance? I’m a woman with curves. An Italian woman with soft curves. Not FAT. Not in any sort of danger of becoming ill because of my weight. I mean, I’m a size 12 (Aussie size 12, US size 8), so where’s the problem? It’s this really relief, albeit an incredulous one, that just months before my 40th, I think I’ve finally realised that food is not the enemy. It’s delicious. I’m not a glutton. I don’t LOVE to exercise (although I like to walk). I’m pretty normal, to be honest. I have softness and I constantly hide it away as though it’s completely hideous and abnormal. We women are so lucky to have these gorgeously formed, soft bodies, no harsh edges, just soft and squidgy. How lucky are we! But we try to exercise this beauty away, to starve it away, or diet it away, for what? So we can wear pants? I’m over it. No more dieting, no more obsessing, no more dressing to hide my curves. Don’t get me wrong, I’m vain so will always want to look pretty. But as for wearing pants, it’s pretty much over, and hiding my softness? OVER.

So what now?

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