certainty

Reverb Prompt 1: Today, I invite you to take a quiet moment to consider: what can you say right now with certainty?

For all the constant change going on around me this year, I actually  have a lot of clarity and certainty in some spots, which helps ground me through it all. 

First, foremost, and always - I love my sons and am fiercely proud of them. I will continue to believe in, encourage, and support them to the best of my abilities until they fully believe in themselves. They are remarkable men with a resilience that keeps them moving forward. To be this far from them for this long (if you're new here, I'm volunteering in Jamaica for 5 months) is sometimes a challenge for me, but they have risen to the occasion, are creating great lives for themselves,  and I love them for supporting me as much as I support them. 

Second, at long last, in fits and starts, I am learning to love myself, to accept my body, to cherish my own company, and to communicate my boundaries. Some might say better late than never. I will say there's a ways to go, and I'm appreciative of the people who are patient with the process. 

preverb

Reflecting back on another year of such dramatic change is challenging; a little more bitter than sweet. Disorienting. This time last year I was negotiating with my heart partner how soon was too soon to put up the Christmas tree. This year I am watching stranger strings lights on palm trees & hoping the trade winds carry my memories away, or at least remove some of the sting.

Christmas 2013 - so much more than 365 days from Christmas 2014

The distance between that life and this one is almost incomprehensible to me. I still don't really know what happened. How this happened. Last year I was stressed, exhausted, loved and confused. Now I am less of almost all of those things - only the confusion lingers (yes, I know I am still loved - you know what I mean). 

Reverb - an annual writing-prompt/writing community project of both looking back at the last year and looking forward to what may come next  - begins Sunday. Reverb is not just for bloggers; it's for anyone who wants to spend the last month of the year being both reflective and creative.

Honestly, I'm not entirely sure I'm ready yet to look back at 2014 with much vigour. Some of what has happened is still hard to look at directly - I prefer to glance at it out of the corner of my mind. It may be like that for a while. It probably ought to be like that for a while. Love shouldn't be easy to get over. 

None-the-less, no less a philosopher than Socrates declared that "the unexamined life is not worth living"; who am I to argue? Besides, I really love my reverb community. If you're going to navel gaze, at least do it in great company. 

Click the image to learn more.

the void

My mom sent me a message on Facebook last night observing that I've been pretty quiet this week. She's right, I suppose. I haven't blogged here or there. I have been less active than usual on Facebook (that is, less active than I usually am, not less active than the average bear. I suppose some people will be glad of that). In truth, it's been a long, lonely week, I didn't see a way out of it, and I really wasn't going to talk about it. I knew that this too would pass and like so many others, I'm tired of my whining.

I messaged specific people asking for connection & most of those messages went unheard. Or heard but not yet acted on for various reasons. It's no one's fault - I am here, in a different time & space. I was thinking today of a comparison to a swimming pool: when one person steps out of the pool almost nothing changes for the people still in the pool, but everything has changed - however temporarily - for the person dripping on the tiles on the deck. 

In essence, the water has filled the space I left when I stepped out of the pool, and that is natural, but hard to break through. I can't think of one person who has asked for my address here. I can't think of anyone who has called me unless they first missed a call from me. I chose to step out of the pool - it's only natural that the waters rush in and fill that void without anyone even noticing. 

I spend my life in a world of communications technology & strategy, but my day to day experience is one of missed connections. It's as true here in Kingston as it is at home in Canada. It was as true when I lived with the man I love as it is living with someone who started out a stranger.

I came across this video today and it spoke very powerfully to me of why I experience such a relentless desire to connect. If nothing else, the video takes some of the shame out of wanting (and missing) connection so much that it overwhelms me at times. At least I come by it honestly.

Green Hills of Africa: a review

Somehow in my summer of perusing used bookstores Ernest Hemingway's Green Hills of Africa ended up in my 'not yet read' stack. I can recall thinking that I should set aside my assumption that I would not like Hemingway and read something I wouldn't normally read. Hemingway is famous for some reason, right?? 

And so, casting my literary prejudices aside, Mr. Hemingway's wee book ended up in the aforementioned book stack, and then made its way with me to Jamaica based solely on its stature - I was at my weight limit for luggage; only small books were welcome on the journey. 

Even so, when I first sat down to read this book, Z was too fresh in my mind. Although that was a fictional imagining, I could so believe in the vileness of Hemingway and his interference with the Fitzgeralds that piling on the topic of slaughtering animals in Africa as a sport and a proof of masculinity ... well ... let's just say Mr. Hemingway had a bit of an uphill push.

Hemingway's sparse prosaic style, of course, is not a style I appreciate. And then there is his rampant self-centered stupidity. How is this for logic?: "He [their white guide] hated to have anything killed except what we were after ... No killing to kill, only when you wanted it more than you wanted not to kill it." So, then, you could only kill whatever you wanted to kill? Okay. Got it. That's some high standards. 

Sexism. Racism. Colonial swaggering. Alcoholism. Slinging insults at other writers from the safety of the safari camp. I finally called it quits this morning after one last attempt. I have read 47 of 200 pages. I can take no more. I love reading too much to have to suffer through it. 

The list of novels I've been unable or unwilling to finish is fairly short: Anna Karenina and Middlemarch because of baby brain in the first case and time constraints in the second (hey, profs, how about you DON'T assign thousand + page novels to people who have 5 other novels to read?), Tale of Two Cities, even after my grandma told me I was probably too young the first time I tried to read it, so I tried again. Nope, sorry Chuck. 

And I think that's about it. I can still see the value of those three books though. Green Hills of Africa, not so much. It will find itself on some book donation pile here in Kingston. Maybe someone can use it to start a fire for roasting breadfruit - that would be a fitting end.

sometimes it's okay to read the comments

Yesterday, as I was walking home from a fabulous brunch with a friend, I noticed how loose my shorts were, how strong my legs are, how tall I was walking, and that I wasn't out of breath. I have been in Jamaica for 6 weeks now and part of my transit from home to work is walking at least 15-20 minutes on either end of the day.

I often walk more when I have places to see, things to do, and (apparently) crêpes to work off. It may not be a lot of activity to some people, but it's a hell of a lot more movement than my body was getting at home. I also eat more fruits and vegetables here because on a volunteer's stipend eating local and in season is not only a nutrition choice but also an economic necessity.

That's me in the middle at age 14 automatically hiding my
stomach when a boy I was crushing on was nearby, never
mind the threat of a camera. 

As has been my reality since I was about 12 years of age, I think about my weight, my body shape and where those are in comparison to where they have been and where they could be a lot more of the time than I should. But I don't have a set regimen to change that and - PLEASE HEAR THIS! - I do not want one.

I eat foods I love, that I can access, and that I can afford. Often that is fresh watermelon from a vendor on the street corner, and equally often it's peanut M&Ms. In order to avoid possible gluten-poisoning, I mostly ask for salads as my side instead of a starch, though a couple rounds of fried bammy with scotch bonnet hot sauce never go amiss. I have dessert if something looks like it'll work for me, though that's rarely the case. But I am not intentionally depriving myself of anything. My eating is healthier than at home, but could still be much cleaner. I'm good with that.

The change in routine and food availability means that clothes I brought assuming they'd fit once I'd been here a while now fit, and clothes like the aforementioned shorts are getting noticeably loose - as in "does that woman have a butt at all - how do her pants stay up?" loose. In light of all that and the body-positive way I was feeling as I walked home yesterday, imagine my surprise when I got to my apartment complex gate, said hello to our security guard (and I use that term VERY loosely) only to have her reply:

"You look like you've put on weight since you got here."

Ugh.

I don't believe she was being rude. There's a vast cultural difference here from both the Canadian standard of beauty and the Canadian taboo of commenting on people's bodies - even the bodies of total strangers. Jamaican women of my age and younger celebrate their bodies and walk with confidence. Even if they have a poochy belly or flabby arms they wear much more body-conscious clothing than most Canadian women do, and for the most part they do it looking composed and confident, not trashy. It's inspiring.

I have had comments on my legs, my shoulders, and definitely my body in general. I've been told I look very strong, called 'champion' and a whole lot of things I - thankfully - couldn't understand. I've also been told I look - at least in my face - like Natalie from Facts of Life. I've had a co-worker comment on how much sugar I eat, point out how much fat is in cashews, and ask if I eat buttered popcorn flavoured rice cakes because they are fat free (no, I eat them because they are buttered popcorn flavoured, gluten free, available here, delicious and a great carrier for cheese!).

I believe that in her world the guard's statement was an observation, not an insult. But I carried it the rest of the day. I could take my shorts off without undoing the fly, but despite evidence to the contrary I still carried her comment all day.

In the meantime, I posted pictures on Facebook of my trip to Ocho Rios last weekend, including this one of me in a bikini at Dunn's River Falls. I have never worn a bikini before; I have worn a bikini top with board shorts, but only once very briefly and only in an 'audience restricted' area. This was me, for 4 and a half hours, with potentially hundreds of strangers seeing and assessing me, just as I was seeing and assessing them.

That's not what this picture shows. This picture is of me

• having an absolute blast doing one of my favourite things - namely playing in water
• fulfilling a promise to myself to be daring
• wearing what I wanted to wear because I wanted to wear it
• not letting decades-old doubts stop me
• having the most fun I've had yet in Jamaica
• feeling great about myself and my life.

The problem is, when I posted the photo to Facebook I added a caption that referenced not the joy in my face but something about not being the fattest woman I'd seen in a bikini that day. I discounted my own joy and freedom after the fact. I squandered the power of that moment. The comments that followed have varied from "if a country can cure body image Jamaica is it" (maybe, maybe not - see paragraph 4) to "you look great" to "who cares how you look, you're clearing having fun" and a recommendation for great looking suits for 'curvy girls.' 

The truth is, I am not curvy. I am overweight. At what I consider my ideal weight I have very few curves, a long 'athletic' profile (broad shoulders, narrow hips, a straightish waist) and basically no butt at all. When people include me in discussions about this dance class or that new store for 'curvy women' I want to tell them, "I'm not curvy; I'm overweight." As a euphemism for fat, curvy fails.

I am not obese. I am overweight. I can shop in any store I want to and buy 'regular size' clothes (well, not pants that are long enough, but that's a problem I like having). And I am overweight. When I am again at my goal weight, the body mass index will still consider me overweight. And at some point today I had a eureka moment and realised that my percent body fat is a fluid and inaccurate measure of who I am. That realisation has somehow released a lot of very old angst for me. 

I don't know exactly how much I weigh right now, but I know how differently my clothes fit. I know how different my legs look. I know I have definition in places I didn't know definition was missing. I also know that I have weighed up to approximately 30 pounds more, and down to approximately 30 pounds less in the past 4 years.

I know that - and I'm not going to pretend this isn't a consideration - there were men interested in me at every point along that spectrum and I still hated my body. I know that at either end of that spectrum I wanted to hide my stomach. I know that because of an auto-immune disorder sometimes my bloated belly will not reflect my overall health no matter what size I wear. I know that no matter how many sit ups or crunches or burpees I did (if I was someone who did sit ups and crunches and burpees) I would always have a stomach with multiple scars, poorly reattached muscles on one side, and a road map of stretch marks.

But most of all, I know that having a rich, full life of adventure, not being stopped by what else is going on around me, smiling, laughing and jumping in with abandon when opportunity knocks, and valuing more essential things about myself  is sexier than lady abs could ever hope to be. 'Big ups,' as they say, to every single person who helped to get me here.
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PS: If you think I want diet and exercise tips, please re-read the post. You couldn't be more wrong.