Self Confidence Shots All Around

What can travel teach me about judgement?

Part One: Body Image

On May 13, 2014, I started a Five Year Journal. You know the kind. Each page has five boxes--one for each year. My grandmother's was the size of a hand. She wrote the temperature, when she planted potatoes, when the cucumbers broke ground--like a mini Farmers' Almanac. My Five Year Journal is more like the size of a telephone book. Everything is bigger and better these days. 

This is what I wrote two years ago.

First Entry

Feel big fat. My body can't do things in yoga like it used to. It doesn't feel like me. Have I ever known what me feels like? The entry went on and on. And my writing went outside of the May 13 box. I guess that made me mad so I wrote: First entry and I already wrote too much--so hard to edit myself--that's me! A writer who wants to write and write free and full--no restraints or rules like work--all over the fucking page.

May 13, 2016 is a wholenother story. The following day I was leaving for a trip to St Barths in the Caribbean to write. 

 

I have four topics lined up but my pen can take me anywhere. One of the topics is body image. What I wrote two years ago about being big and fat was negative. I am transitioning to feeling positive about big and fat. I want the whole world to transition on that. Well some places are already there. African countries. Probably Polynesian countries. Maybe Japanese with Sumo wrestlers. I want to be part of a movement that brings this message to the world. Fat is not ugly. It's not even necessarily unhealthy.

May 15, 2016

I am here in St. Barths. I arrived yesterday. Two years ago I was writing negative things about being fat and hating my job and wanting to write. Today I am still fat but not negative about it. Losing weight is not willpower, it's neuroscience so I'm taking a different approach. Self-confidence no matter what I look like. Self-confidence for everyone no matter what they look like! That's the way it would work best. Everyone has to open their minds. But not everyone will so just like I have to teach my kids how to deal with bullies and haters, I teach myself that. Self-confidence shots for everyone! Drink up!

And two years ago I ached for writing time and today I am here with it stretched before me for 6 days. I woke up at 5:30AM, smiled at the ocean bay just there beyond my balcony, and I went back to sleep. I had envisioned a routine of waking up early, drinking coffee and meditating on my balcony, walking, eating breakfast, spa, writing, beach time. But I also swore not to be driven by any ideal or plan. I want to listen to my body and do what it tells me.

So on this first day, my body tells me sit in bed for awhile and see what I feel like. The pain in my neck from yesterday has slipped down to my lower back and is a dull overall throb. It's ok because I know that by this afternoon, it will have worked its way out through my feet and hands and my body will feel good. 

 

I think about my arrival last night. The plane landing was of no surprise, maybe unfortunately, because I had seen it with my son on Casey Neistat's You Tube channel. St. Barths is an island 16 miles in radius. There is an outer road that loops around. The road was busy with little cars and ATVs driven by bikini ladies. My French driver remarked on where I could do shopping and tourist things. I said, "I don't plan on leaving the hotel. I am here strictly to ..." He interjected his assumption, "relax" and I spoke almost over him..."write." 

After a long silence, he said "You are a writer, Madame?" I said, "Yes. I am." And bit my tongue that was so ready to say..."Well sort of...I'm really blah blah blah." I am a writer this week. That's all. Plain and simple. Thank god he didn't ask what I write because I know I would have back peddled and babbled explanations. So just like a movie, I start my time here stating that I am indeed a writer.

I also think about the birds from last night. I am at the far end of Le Guanahani Hotel in one of the last ocean bay rooms, up against the jungle. When my ears first tuned in to the birds, I thought they were some kind of alarm--so perfectly synced and mechanical were their calls. It was raining hard when my room service meal came. I sat on the well-lit balcony to eat it, looking out into darkness, only knowing I was on an ocean bay in a rainstorm from the sounds of waves like heavy traffic rushing by, splashing rain plops, and the birds going crazy. I was safe in my jungle nest. (With wi-fi, room service, lights, and a refrigerator full of sparkling water.)

After twenty minutes of this morning contemplation, I decide that I want to write. I make coffee and write right through breakfast. The birds are calm now, sounding like birds instead of alarms. And the ocean is no longer rushing traffic. It is nicely right there, rhythmic and perpetual. Then I take a deep breathe and tell myself it is time to leave my hideaway. Face the day and the people. Time to go to the spa. 

As I mentioned before I am trying to perpetuate a mental transformation from self-loathing to self-loving, despite or maybe because of being fat. Most people think fat is ugly. That fat people don't care about themselves. That they can control their weight. That they have failed to control their weight because they are weak. That they have failed to look like what they should. There's no denying that people think this way. I feel judged all the time. I am here to write about that, to explore that notion. 

What better place to explore it than in a fancy French spa? The spa robe doesn't fit. There is a scale in the changing room. I try to put aside my preconceptions and go ahead and weigh myself. Why not? There is no weight requirement posted. No one is saying "Here, step on and make sure you fit in this world." The weight is in kilos so it means little to me. 

At the spa, she starts with a warm compress pressed firmly to my feet and hands. Just as I had predicted, the pain begins to make its way to exit through my feet and hands. 

She works deep into my lower back--right where the pain and tension had settled. And then does fast rubbing swipes back and forth. Just like I used to do to my kids when they got hurt and then I would say Pain eraser! Pain eraser! I wished she would have said Pain eraser! I sometimes long to be treated like a child again.

Then a surprising thing happens. She exfoliates and massages my belly. This is important. No masseuse has ever touched my belly. It seems a forbidden zone. I reconsider my idea that I am going to be judged negatively for being fat here in this chic skinny St. Barths. Maybe a lot of the judgement is in my head. Actually maybe I am the one doing the judging. Having my belly touched is sweet.  Happy Baby Pose. She does it with the same care as the rest of the massage. No judgement.

 

So now I am sitting on this beach. There is a strong wind. Not many people. I select a lounge chair at the very far end. But even here I get service. I refuse a drink because I am going to go eat lunch and have some fish and cold white wine. I am oddly not hungry. I'm listening to my body. A new experience for me. It's almost 2:00 and I've had 3 coffees, a teeny cup of juice stuff, and a raspberry macaroon. And that feels right and fine. I have no anxiety so no pressure to eat it away. I am now genuinely getting hungry. But when I first came down to eat, my body said--Not yet. Go check out the beach first. Write a little bit. So I did.

 

While the belly massage did wonders to break down my judgement of St. Barth as a skinny-centric place, I still get a jolt when I finally figure out why these fashion magazine-looking people are twirling around between the tables, smiling, pausing, hands on hips, putting one foot exactly in front of the other when they walk. They are fashion models. They seem to be avoiding my table. Good. They are probably ashamed to not have someone/something in my size. 

There are French kids here. Two adorable blonde girls but they have annoying, whiny kid voices. But I do like that about the French. They take their kids to fancy places. But I don't like their Chardonnay. It's not soft and buttery like California Chardonnay. Like me. It's bitter and biting like I judged French people to be. But alas we are all complex. No more generalizing. There are plenty of bitter, biting Americans and probably some soft, buttery French people. 

Another thing I like about the French and tropics is the slow pace. I've been here 45 minutes and have only just finished my starter--crab, avocado, and grapefruit.

 

Next I'm having red snapper, which the waiter said is oeil de beouf in French--bull's eye. I ordered a beer for that. Fuck the tsk-y Chardonnay. The beer came in its own mini ice bucket.

 

You know who's the hardest on fat people? Fat people. A woman walked into this beach restaurant wearing a short white dress that looked like a wedding dress on top. I assumed she was one of the models because she was thin and blonde. But she sat down with a family. They whistled at her dress. My first reaction was that she as a beauty. A model. But then she took off her sunglasses and her face was not pretty. The space between her eyes was wide like Jake from Avatar. Her nose was a bulb with nose holes on the sides like a blowfish. Her teeth were horsey. So see? I too am guilty of judgement. I assumed she was a beauty because she was thin and blonde. But also because she was confident.

That is the key to beauty--confidence. Hold yourself like you love yourself--something that cannot be faked--and which is easier for people who look like the accepted norm of beautiful (thin)--and you are beautiful, no matter what. 

Unless your face looks like a horsey blowfish.

Answer to today's questions: What can travel teach me about judgement? It is possible to be unafflicted by judgement. As long as the scale is in kilos and you don't give a shit when the tiny robe pops open. And it is possible to stop judging. Yes, but maybe tomorrow.