a lot to chew on, considering . . .

I admit it. I’m a wanna be.

I wanna be several things I could articulate right at this moment, but what’s on my mind, specifically, is I wanna be a blogger.

I read several blogs each week:


I don’t read every single word, but I scan them and see if that’s something I have time for on a certain day. If it is, I usually make time.

I love reading their prose and I notice how wonderfully they write and how their emotions and sensitivity and sincerity all come together. I appreciate their humor and genuineness and family values. I love that they have religion in their lives and talk about it. I love that they love their children and spouses and their lives.

I’m especially proud of my own daughter and her posts. And I begin to go through withdrawals if she hasn’t written for several days!

I remember when we started talking about doing this, I told her I had a blog about my weight struggles. She said “Really! Way to go!” At that time I was actually doing it on my computer as a page on Microsoft Word each day. Then she went right out and got a blog! Oh my goodness! She did what I had ony thought about and talked about doing for several months! I had to catch up with her!

Then the day arrived [May 2, 2009] when I knew something had to change. I knew I had to do something to make me stop eating the way I was. I needed to be accountable to someone, to something. I wanted this blog to do that for me. I needed to start caring about myself and what I was doing to my health and body. The rest, as they say, is history. [I seriously could not put that cliche there! I tried, but no.]

But what I wish, what makes me the wanna be I’m talking about, is that I could write like these women and mothers that I read. I love their depth. I love their commitment and energy. I love all the topics they write about. I love the way they approach life.

Me? I’m in a rut. Food, in, out, weight, up, down. And when my weight’s not great, I try to post about something, anything, else. It’s at these times when I realize how very humdrum, how very mediocre my life is. It’s all so familiar. It’s all so boring. I always come back to me and food. Food and me.

Last week when my friend Trish was scanning pictures for my post about Mikelle’s birthday, I actually was embarrassed about my blog. She wanted to see how the scans turned out and I apologized, “Oh, sorry, it’s just a blog about my weight loss struggles.” She said, “That’s OK! How’s that going for you anyway? I want to see it.”

At that moment I wished I had made a king size headboard, or had a baby, or ran or skied, or had surgery or cleaned my bedroom or organized a service project for Uganda children. I wished I had a shop on Etsy, or had my scriptures in the window of my perfect kitchen or was a midwife or had a dad running for public office.

Instead . . .

I ordered Women, Food and God, a new book touted by Oprah and sure to get me re-motivated. It’s sure to make my life less boring. It’s sure to get me where I need to get so I can move on.

An excerpt:

“Your relationship to food is an exact mirror of your feelings about love, fear, anger, meaning, transformation, and, yes, even God.”

That’s a lot to chew on! — especially considering I just ate six [six!] eggs and two avocados and a slice of cheddar. Yuk! Cheddar! Probably the worse cheese I could bite!

“The shape of our bodies obeys the shape of our beliefs. To change your body you must first understand what is shaping it.”

I’m not sure I can take much more truth about why I eat. But here’s just one more.

“The way you eat is inseparable from your core beliefs about being alive. No matter how sophisticated or wise or enlightened you believe you are, how you eat tells all. The world is on your plate. When you begin to understand what prompts you to use food as a way to numb or distract yourself, the process takes you deeper into realms of spirit and to the bright center of your own life. Rather than getting rid of or instantly changing your conflicted relationship with food, Women Food and God is about welcoming what is already here, and contacting the part of yourself that is already whole—divinity itself.”

Owie. Band-aid, please.