Have You Ever Asked Yourself This Question?

“HOW WOULD MY LIFE BE BETTER IF I FINALLY FIGURED OUT HOW TO HAVE A FLAT STOMACH?”

Day-in-and-day-out for decades I’ve obsessed over being thinner but then, out of nowhere the other night, the above question arose in my mind and those incessant thoughts whiplashed to a sudden stop like a slam on the breaks and an unforgiving seatbelt.

My life wouldn’t be better. Not one goddamn bit.

How do I know? Because in college I was ripped. Six pack and everything. But was I any happier or content? I really don’t think so. And the crazy thing is, I never felt thin enough back then either.

DEAR READER: sixteen hours have passed since that last sentence. I waited and waited for the next words to arrive but they refused to comply. So, after an hour of staring helplessly at the screen, I decided to shelve this until today instead of forcing the issue. Art can’t be rushed. I mean, it can be rushed, but it will probably won’t be worth a damn when you’re through. Not that this is a great work of literature or commentary, but it still deserves my best effort and full commitment. Otherwise, what’s the point?

And now here I am, back in the light of day, and I’ll just be honest, after waking up to the fact that I wouldn’t be any happier with a flat stomach, I’m still stuck being fully obsessed with wanting a flat stomach.

I wish I was one of those people who can just take their shirt off at the pool in a laissez-faire manner without feeling bad about myself or worrying what anyone might be thinking about me. Especially since I know NO ONE is even thinking about me at all.

Everyday I plot and plan through variations of: maybe I should do a daily fast…maybe I should severely cut my calories… maybe I need to eat less rice…maybe I need to eat more rice….maybe I should only allow myself to eat oranges….grapes?…walnuts??…..etc etc etc.

But all of that uncomfortableness I’d have to endure would only be for the sake of vanity. Silly vanity. Because thankfully, I’m already fit as a fiddle. Like a Stradivarius. And I sure as hell have to remember it would be a giant slap in the face to everyone everywhere who’s literally, as we speak, struggling to scrape enough food together just to survive the day.

This is just going to be a foolish foible I’ll deal with which has seeped permanently into my psyche and cells from this society of ours. BUT, with all things considered, I PROMISE I still realize how lucky I am to have this “problem”.

I appreciate you trading a part of your day for my words. It means the world to me and I hope you don’t feel your time has been wasted on something that means next to nothing.

Love/Thanks,

GB

I Like The Way You Express Your Thoughts (Yes, You)

Instantly, I noticed the hospital visitor pass stuck to the upper left corner of his t-shirt.

The sticker was maroon in color with fading black lettering as if it was printed hours and hours earlier. Or maybe even, the night before.

He was around my age, maybe a bit younger, and around my height, but maybe a bit taller.

On my way out, I held the door open for him at a Panera Bread this afternoon as he entered the place with glassy eyes.

“I hate to see those hospital passes on people,” I said.

There was a brief pause of confusion, but then he looked at the sticker on his chest and said to me through a little laugh, “Thankfully it was just a baby.”

I smiled in relief. He smiled. And that was that.

I’ve worn those hospital passes more times than I’d care to even think about. For weeks in a row. And also for many months.

There’s so much suffering in the world and I hope this new baby sees very little of it. And just as importantly, I hope he or she doesn’t add any measurable suffering either.

Maybe he’ll/she’ll realize early on that we’re all connected.

That we’re all one.

The reader of these words, right now, is also the one who wrote them.

Love/thanks,

GB