…life doesn’t end with the coup de gras. Once you accomplish a major goal, a new one must take its place or you start to feel kindof lost in the wind.
I’ve talked a great deal about food fixing on this blog. I can’t claim to be a Vegetarian anymore because I partake in some sort of meat once or twice a week. Mostly out of necessity because when I work, I oft times forget to eat. I mean that literally. When I get in the zone, like most of we overachievers, my body necessity goes to the immediate back burner until my stomach literally feels like its about to eat itself. By that time I’ll eat whatever is handy. I don’t eat fast food or junk, so whatever is at my parent’s house when I pick up Aubrei is first in line to my mouth. My parents are full blooded carnivores. But whatever.
The same goes for me and my supposed righteous water intake. I keep large bottles of purified water around. I have gallons in my car and office. Having it around and drinking it are two very separate things for me. Unfortunately.
Since completing my Tough Mudder last week, the concept of finding new mountains to climb has been plaguing my psyche. Why? Mostly because life doesn’t end with the coup de gras. Once you accomplish a major goal, a new one must take its place or you start to feel kindof lost in the wind. That feeling and I don’t get along. Never have. For whatever reason, my fitness level along with my food fixing have been stuck still on the front of my dome. Like it’s really important to me right now. For general aesthetics yes, but also from a personal best standpoint.
When you truly and utterly fall head over heels in love with yourself, your entire life opens up to reflect the love you have inside of you.
I can only suppose, now that I’m fully entrenched in the LOVE phase of my “Eat, Pray, Love” journey, becoming MORE of what I love is showing up in all kinds of ways. Most of these days I literally feel like I’m making that good love to my life. I really do. Love songs take on a beautiful soundtrack to how I’m feeling, even though I don’t have a beau to gush over when hearing them. When I look in the mirror, I like what I see generally, but I also feel like being complacent with liking what I see, isn’t the same as LOOOVING it. I’ll assume then that LOOOVING my body will require some extra effort, care, and a whole lot more consistent love than I’ve been showing it. When I feel like it.
I say this for a few reasons. We’ve talked at length about loving oneself before one can love another. This is the absolute truth. It’s more true than any other thing you will know about your life. When you truly and utterly fall head over heels in love with yourself, your entire life opens up to reflect the love you have inside of you. You attract different kinds of love full people. Your creativity sprouts out in ways you can’t imagine. You see love everywhere you look. The sun shines brighter. Rainy days are beautiful testimonials of God’s glory. Everything you see and do has a light and glow to it, because you do. It’s a beautiful place to be.
I have to be clear here. True love of self is NOT the same as self-aggrandizement. THAT is ego telling you you are something you aren’t. Bragging, boasting, selfishness and narcissistic self obsession are NOT self LOVE. Self LOVE is gentle and giving. It’s kind and a bit selfless. Self LOVE sees itself in everyone and everything. Plus it rubs off and lingers a bit in everyone and everything you cross paths with. It’s actually quite undeniable when it’s present. It’s your best self connected exactly to the source of ALL love. Self LOVE is GOD love. Sadly, far too many people haven’t become acquainted with the difference.
I’ve learned this the long, hard way. I used to work out to be acceptable to others. Mostly, some guy I was hot for. It turned out, no matter how ripped my abs or how dope I looked in pictures, because I was NOT just as much in love with my highest self as I claimed to be for the object of affections, I was rebuffed anyway. Not for being gorgeous or fit or any of that. But because there’s a fear and desperation unconsciously associated with making oneself “dope” to please someone else. I can’t explain it better than that. It’s like a way to fish for attention and compliments you crave, but aren’t getting. It’s a way we attempt to plug gaping holes in our self-esteem.
I mean, I accomplished my goal. Or so I thought. I also became a bit of a slave to my “perfection” insecurity, saw myself in a sort of battle for the affections of my “beloved”–which made me a bigger slave to his every whim.
I used to have this boyfriend that I adored. He was so gorgeous and fine and on paper he was the absolute everything I thought I wanted at the time. He was dope to look at. When he walked in a room, every single girl within eye shot was ready with drawls in hand in attempt to land “my” man. This irked me a little because he flirted a lot. In the same token, I understood in a weird way that being mad at the girls who thought he was as fine as I did was futile. Being mad at him for relishing the attention was also futile. The only thing I could control is me. I understood this instinctively. It’s an actual spiritual principal. I applied it all wrong, but the lesson was necessary.
Now get this. With my motivation toward “perfection” and his attention, I was cool as a cucumber as I trumped up my workouts and played the quintessential “stripper-jawn” in the bedroom. I also became extra flirty when I was paid way too much logical attention by the opposite sex when we went out. He hated this of course, just as I did when the girls paid him too much attention. But his jealousy was my litmus test that I was on the right track. In my mind, if I was the dopest thing around, controlled every room I found myself AND made sure my presence garnered the same attention with all the guys that he got with all the girls, we were on an even playing field. It made perfect sense to me at the time. I mean, I accomplished my goal. Or so I thought. I also became a bit of a slave to my “perfection” insecurity, saw myself in a sort of battle for the affections of my “beloved”–which made me a bigger slave to his every whim.
It turned out, none of it mattered. There was always something he saw when he looked at me that won’t right enough. “You got a white girl butt.” “You ever think about a boob job?” “Babe, you should put something on that pimple.” “You’re way too skinny.” “You didn’t see your nail chipped? You should have filed it before we left.” “You should wear you hair black, I don’t like the Auburn on you anymore.” “You should grow your hair out. That short cut is played.” He complained a lot. About a bunch of little, pointless stuff. It shouldn’t have mattered, but when you’re insecure, the slightest blow to the ego is monumental. It sounds gay. But I “loved” him. He was “my” man and my man should be pleased with every single thing about me, I reasoned. I could be complimented 3 contrillion times a day by everybody else in the world and he would either not say a thing or point out every single flaw he could find. It was a mind fuck, sure. He knew I wanted to please him and instead of being pleased, it turned into some weird game to see how far I would go for him and his just out of reach affections.
If I did this, I wouldn’t be “me”. I would be who he proposed for me to be. That quintessential stripper-jawn or porn star getting butt implants and a boob job for his dollar. Except his dollar wasn’t the cash kind. It was a carrot on a stick he fashioned as his love.
The game escalated into his pressuring me into a threesome with a girl of his choice. Which would have been fine, if I really wanted to be in a threesome. I’ll admit to being down to trying anything interesting once or twice, but this proposition didn’t feel like whimsy sexual exploration or a kinky social experiment. It felt like a test. Like a game. It felt like he was playing at my desperation to be adored by him and he wanted to see how far I would go for it. “If you do this, we can only grow closer.” “If you do this, it will take us to the next level.” “If you do this…” Let’s suppose after about the 100th time the subject came up and I said no (or some coy variation)– I started to feel the pits of my stomach try to fall out at the mere mention. This proposition wasn’t who I was. If I did this, I wouldn’t be “me”. I would be who he proposed for me to be. That quintessential stripper-jawn or porn star getting butt implants and a boob job for his dollar. Except his dollar wasn’t the cash kind. It was a carrot on a stick he fashioned as his love.
Finally, as the cards of our relationship reality stacked up right in my face. So many things. I discovered the game I was in with him was unwinnable. There were other apparent reasons I came to this conclusion, but for ease and grace purposes, let’s just say this was it. I began to see myself as this guy’s desperate attention concubine and I hated myself for it. How far low does one have to go to prove your “love” to someone? I wasn’t willing to find out. I drew the line, as I always have, at not being able to look myself in the mirror because somebody else wanted me to be somebody else. I gave all I could and it still wasn’t enough. I refused, however meekly at the time, to lose every ounce of “me” to gain a piece of “him”. I hated him for making me feel so ugly even when I worked so hard to be so pretty for him. I hated our relationship because I felt so in “love” and yet so small and lost. AND I hated not being “perfect” enough for him so he would “love” me.
Even after I broke up with him, this perfection maze I found myself in continued. I worked steadily on all the things I thought it would take to please him more. Mostly, so when he saw me he would go, “Damn! I need THAT back”. I grew out my hair. I dyed my hair back to its original color: black. I did some of THE most grueling workouts to keep my body tight. I did extra squats to pump up my booty. There was nothing I could do about my boobs, but I considered a boob job for a long time. It was a maze in every sense of the word because while I was doing all these things under the guises of “for me”. It was still, no matter how hard I denied it, all about pleasing him. Even though he was nowhere around to see it. Nor did any of my efforts matter to him in the slightest. Our love wasn’t actually love at all. It was something else entirely. It was based on ego, self-loathing and insecurity on both sides and it was in part how I found my way to rock bottom. That experience is also, consequently, how I found myself on this Eat, Pray, Love journey to begin with.
Perfection is a myth. It exists under the guises of lack. It exists in the mindset that we’re missing something and there is something external we can do can fill the space of what we perceive is lacking.
There’s a lot more to this story, of course. There was a lot of breaking down to build back up. There was a lot of stripping down to my very barest foundation to find the muscles and skin that fit around the bones of what was really important to me. There was a lot of reassessment that had to happen, inner work, facing truth, ACCEPTANCE of what is.
When I look back on who I was then and who I am now, it is literally a vision of night and day. I was pretty and surface then, with smatterings of spiritual deepness I was too afraid to embody. What I am now, though still in progress, is authentic and real and spirited in my quest for awesome. NOT perfection, awesome.
I say all of this because on my quest to awesome, in this very new self LOVE place I’ve found myself–this love making to my life– I’m interested more than ever in how I look naked. I’ll admit that it’s exactly what it sounds like AND far more deep than face value will infer. My nakedness–my authenticity, my realness, my acceptance of who I am and what I came here for is entrenched utterly in my body temple. My body, my temple, is an exact reflection of what’s going on inside.
Again, I’m not in pursuit of perfection. Perfection is a myth. It exists under the guises of lack. It exists in the mindset that we’re missing something and there is something external we can do can fill the space of what we perceive is lacking. Perfection is a flaw if we look at it from its secular roots. What I’m in pursuit of is awesome. Awesome is a look at where we are and becomes a guidepost of the excellence we can become. Awesome is the embodiment of becoming MORE. Perfection is finite, limited to paradigms. Awesome is infinite, limitless, constantly evolving. Perfection is a standard. Awesome is a lifestyle. Everyone can be awesome in their own unique way, handcrafted by their own design. What I want is optimal health, well-being, living in my spirit, and letting my LOVE wash all over every single things I do. I want to be able to strip off all my clothes, no representative, no ego, no bullshit and say, “I look damn good naked.” It’s a harrowing quest. And yet, I’m clearer about it than I’ve ever been.
The great news is that I’m not doing this to please somebody else who will never be pleased. I’m not doing this for praise or accolade. I’m not doing this because I’m harboring that self-loathing masked as “hot girl”. I’m doing this for me. I’m doing it because it feels right. I’m doing it because I want my outside to reflect my insides. I’m doing this as my own testimony to me of what’s possible for me. To accomplish this and raise the bar again. To be MORE.
What this means for me is to cease and desist from treating my body like a wayward lover–caring for her the way I should only when I feel like it. What this means is becoming vigilant about my thoughts, deeds, intentions and actions. What this means is putting together all I’ve learned through the last five years with the champion spirit I acquired completing my first Tough Mudder. Add to those things this LOVE that is bubbling through my very being and… I can’t even imagine the outcome. I’m excited by it though. I’ve raised the bar. I’ve set a new challenge. I’m giving myself 3 months to fit everything in its proper place. In 3 months time, prayerfully I’ll be ready for the photoshoot of my new life. My very first nude.
The moral of this story? No idea. Just some food for thought. Thank you for reading this though. Peace and abundant “pursuit of nakedness” blessings! Love, -e-