My fear was being stuck. When I had lost the weight, I gained some perspective, I gained confidence. Make no mistake, I had those companions before, but they were magnified now. For me, the gain I needed most necessitated that loss. When I had seen these beautiful, strong parts of me amplified, I could imagine being the girl who wore sleeveless shirts, the girl who expected to be noticed in a good way, the girl who could be considered…sexy! That girl, re-imagined, could have another life than the straight line I had drawn in front of me.
She deserved it.
She craved it.
Even after the gain of weight in the past year that I’d kicked ass at losing over 18 months, I knew there was no going back to that old girl. I had dreamed of college in New York once. Did you know? I did. I dreamed of writing my own words to share with the world. So, maybe the re-imagined was only reclaimed.
My fear was believing the lies the world told about me. I had briefly believed the lies boys stamped onto me, the lies some in the church stamped onto me; they stained my skin. God forbid I not follow their straight line. If I kept believing their lies, it was easier to get stuck. If I paired with some lover who didn’t love every inch of my brain, every centimeter of my skin, who would prop me up and remind me of my own strength? Who would help me stand when the world went dark?
For my grandmother who worked after high school in the 1950’s, before scholarships and loans, planning her journey into college, I couldn’t get stuck.
For my mother who is smarter than me, I figure, but never had someone to push her off the straight line of doing for others at her own great expense, I couldn’t get stuck.
For reclaimed me and my grandmother and my mother and everyone else who dreamed they could have a different life, for YOU, I couldn’t get stuck.
So, I moved off the straight line. That required significant change for me; maybe it won’t for you. I moved to a city where I never dreamed of living. Honestly, I sometimes think the ways of this city are the exact opposite of my intentions in moving here. Many are racing to blend in while I am fighting my instincts to step out of my comfort zone.
Oh, well.
I moved.
I’m still moving.
And maybe, that lover who sees in me what I am clawing to reclaim for myself won’t be here. Maybe the line will veer somewhere else, sooner or later.
But that girl --the one who imagined that in any mental, physical and emotional shape, she was worth a damn-- that girl lives here.
