In the spirit of the new year, I’ve decided to write about my beliefs. Some of my beliefs also happen to reflect “promises to myself” -- a term I prefer to “resolutions.”
I believe the size of my pants isn’t as important as how I’m feeling while I wear them. These past few years, my weight has yo-yoed quite a bit. Most frustrating has been my lack of control when it comes to my weight. One medication caused significant weight gain, and my levels of pain make walking (my primary source of exercise) quite difficult. But the tag inside my pants is just a number, and that number doesn’t really matter.
I believe I am surrounded by magic and wonder. Trips to Paris and Hawaii are highlights of my past and goals of my future, but it doesn’t negate the fact that here, in my own corner of the world, I am surrounded by magical, beautiful things. The moon, as seen from my dining room window, shines down on me and I am in awe that twelve men have walked on the surface of the moon. I delight in seeing hummingbirds visiting my patio plants, and remember the six years I lived in an apartment without an outside patio.
I believe taking care of myself has to be one of my priorities. This has been a hard lesson for me to learn. Used to be, I took care of everyone else and paid attention to my own needs when it was convenient (which means it didn’t always happen). I may not be teaching any more, but one of my new jobs is taking care of myself so that I can take care of others.
I believe a lot can be accomplished in five minutes. I don’t always have the uninterrupted time or the required energy to tackle big projects -- cleaning out the refrigerator, going through the boxes stored on the top shelf in my closet. But I can usually find five minutes to wipe off some of the shelves in the refrigerator or open up that mysterious box inside the closet to determine if the contents should still be kept.
I believe marriage doesn’t necessarily get easier the longer you do it. Next month, my husband and I will celebrate our sixteenth wedding anniversary. With that longevity comes danger -- the danger of not trying, of taking each other for granted, of not paying attention.
I believe I am beautiful, and my son is the proof. I’ve always been very good at finding fault with my looks, at being overly self-critical of myself. But I look at my son. His long eyelashes. His deep brown eyes. His full smile. In his handsome manner, I recognize my own beauty.