What's weighing down

Both my older brothers picked up the hobby of photography when they were teenagers. Today they are very competent and able photographers, and immortalize those moments we regret we forgot. A flower forcing its way through the paved sidewalk, a sunset, a cup of coffee an early morning...

They bought all the equipment needed to develope the pictures themselves, and I remember how they painted lightbulbs red and occupied our spaceous bathroom for hours experimenting with printing lights, developing baths, fixture and developing time. 

Everything was a potential motif, but I somehow often found myself in the strangest of situations because... well, because I was there and easy to order around so they could get the picture they wanted. 

There are numerous pictures stacked somewhere in a box, of me, in black and white. 

Looking at pictures from my childhood, I can tell I was not the most slender kid around, but I was what I would say a normal, healthy and active kid.

As a teenager I turned into a slender and strong young woman; moulded by hard work and an active lifestyle. 

Now, at 44, I am distressed. I feel my children's childhood have been limted because of their overweight mother.

Every summer we seem to end up visiting amusement parks, waterparks and other sporty sites, and I always end up watching what an amazing time they have together, my family, while I watch our stuff and wait.

20 years ago I was up for everything. No challenge was too scary or too hard to at least try.

That was 30 kilos ago. Now I worry my weight will cause speed, direction.... things, you know?, to get all out of control. I am too big to feel funny when I fail.

When I watch commercials on tv, I notice big people are only used as actors when they are promoting a diet, and they show a photoshopped after picture... Or when the person is silly, sorry or a huge failure.

I have been afraid to go on a diet, worried I will fail. I have been afraid to exercise regularly, worried I will give up. I have comforted myself thinking I can still tie my own shoes without sitting down. 

And then I read this:

And then I realized.... most women want to be "perfect" the acceptable way. Just like flawless models that we see on ads or tv shows... I know people who say I am pretty the way I am, and then they always add some of my qualities, not my looks.

And then I think to myself that I am not history yet. I am not bygone. I refuse to call myself old, even though I recognize how I each year discover changes in me.The hope that the changes can be good never dies.
I am more tolerant, I see more of the whole picture. My personality improves, I think, and I really try to accept myself as I am. And even though this is clear to me in a flash of insight I have to admit that in everyday I don't see that. I am not the carefree girl more than willing to be photographed. I am very self conscious because of all my imperfections.

And then I think about women I see every day; women who don't look like models or actresses, and how I vision them is less important to me, than the feeling thinking about them gives me. Each of them has this different aura and charm around her... and thats when I realize, that everyone has their own beauty. It doesn't matter if you're not born perfect. If you take away, photoshop and remove, the imprefections, there's not much left of who you are.

I should participate more, I should offer more of myself to people around me, being big should not make me feel less good for others. And making an effort is really admirable and so much more attractive, opposed to the mere giving up and stop caring.
And I think that starting to feel better about my own worth could make sporting vacations more enjoyable, and chocolate less of a friend.

Rachel put it like this, after she posted a photo on facebook and got unexpected response:

What's for free and as of now.

Life is a journey. It took me a while to understand that you can enjoy the ride, rather than being hasty and only set future goals.

When I was a kid and we went on a summer vacation, we never stopped unless we had to stop and wait for a ferry. Other than that we just charged on. We passed the beautiful sights tourists from all over the world come to Norway to see, in an impressive speed to get to the next ferry on time, and we never stopped to buy luscious strawberries and cherries.
I never learned to appreciate the journey. I loathed the trip; I just wanted to get there!
We owned an Austin Maxi, it was crowded with bags and other luggage, two adults, four kids and a dog... and the only aircondition was opening the windows. Not all the roads had asphalt... Often the Border Collie and I would lay in the rear window on the hat rack. In those days that was acceptable. A huge no no these days (thank heavens!).

One summer we went to Germany. Of all ironic places we could go, we drove "Die Romantische Strasse". Hah! In the new Saab, (still no aircondition, but with a somewhat limited cool air system) and a rented caravan, we never really stopped anywhere. There was no lazy admiration of the surroundings.
I don't think my parents even knew how to do that. We stopped for the night at the nearest campground when it was time.

I still remember one afternoon we had to drive through the village to get to the campground. The streets were so narrow we had to fold in the mirrors on the car. We worried we would never be able to leave. When we parked the caravan for the night it was getting dark, and all the colorful lightbulbs decorating the gypsies' caravans were lit. It was beautiful! I was not allowed to leave the caravan at all, not untill we left the next morning.

One day, on a narrow road, in the middle of an endless  grain field; nothing to be seen anywhere but aboundance of grain and the sky, my mother lost it and burst into tears. We stayed in Detwang, just outside Rotenburg ob der Tauber, for two days before we started driving back home. The only tan any of us got on that trip was my mother's arm, from elbow to her hand.

My parents handed down the attitude of getting there. I have travelled quite a bit, but not untill recently did I discover one can slow down and ignore the clock. There is no need to hurry up because you are almost late. Some times you get there on time, and some times you can just stroll and enjoy and get there when you get there.

Sometimes life itself is like that. Even though we have a lot going on, we tend to look forward, what things will be like in the future.
I, for one, always have plans and dreams for what things will be like when...

To slow down and enjoy the roses I come across as I keep up everyday, is something I need to remind myself of.

I would hate to end up like in the song: "... life is what happens to you while you're busy making other plans."



And the present, what you need to enjoy what is here and now, is actually free, and of no charge.




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