I’m on week three of summer break! And life hasn’t slowed down by the most minimal amount.
Last Friday, G and I loaded up and took a–much needed–mini vacation to my best friend’s house. My best friend has been in my life since day one, literally. So we have a better understanding of each other than most people, and our friendship has withstood some shit storms. I don’t have a sister, but I imagine if I did, this is what the relationship would be like. Sometimes, when things have been crazy and hectic, it’s nice to have a weekend with her, to play catch-up, as well as just take a break.
We spent the weekend outside playing, going to the zoo, taking the boys to a children’s museum, the pool, and eating waaaay to much. But, I feel better and more refreshed than I did before we went.
While we were there, my best friend and I were talking about age because we’ll be 28 on our next birthdays, and for some reason the proximity to 30 is freaking us both out. We talked about wrinkles, grey hairs, and age spots. And it got me to thinking, we put a lot of stock into a numbers.
Not only do we freak out about certain ages: 30, 40, 50, 60, etc. But we tell ourselves by that age we’ll have this, this, and this accomplished. I’ve heard my students say, well if I don’t have kids by 25 I’m not having them. 25?! That’s a baby! But, I told myself things like that too. I had a pact with one of my friends that if I wasn’t married by 33, him being 30 at that time, we’d get married. 33! My life would undoubtedly be far from over! I’ve also hoped to hit goal weight by a certain age, be this by a certain age, off meds by a certain age.
Why? It’s literally just a number.
Which brings me to the goal weight by a certain age. That’s just another number we use to make ourselves feel terrible. So what if it’s not as low as some peoples? Can we run? Can we play with our kids? Have sex? Walk without gasping? Dance? Then what’s wrong if I have a little extra chunk on my thighs, or that my stomach looks worse for wear after one baby?
I wish I could be so comfortable all the time. But, to be honest, I have days where I say yes! I’m doing good, I’m comfortable with my age, weight, body type. And there are days when all of those things, or just one, send me into a tizzy.
I’m currently doing a workout program and watching what I eat; it started as a weight thing, but it’s also for my mental health. Taking care of me makes me happy. So what if I’m not model perfect? My husband loves me, my child loves me.
And I, like you–and everyone!–, is so much more than a combination of numbers.
Fuck numbers. I like words better anyhow.