I mentioned earlier today in my Daily Photo post that Brian and I really enjoy taking walks together. We’ve always enjoyed doing this, and with two great and locally-owned grocery stores within walking distance of us, not to mention an absolutely gorgeous neighborhood and a hyperactive (if somewhat arthritic) dog, we are almost never at a loss for reasons to walk.

A part of our new determination comes from our ever-continuing and never-abating struggle to remain healthy. Brian and I are not, by nature, athletic people. Given the opportunity, we will – and occasionally do – stay on the couch ALL DAY on a Saturday playing video games. Seriously, on one particularly cold weekend last winter we finished the second two Zelda games in one day. Also, we love red meat on our grill, and we love beer.

Please, by all means take this moment to note what horrible gays we are.

All this is to say that over the last several weeks Brian and I have found some heretofore untapped impetus within ourselves to keep active and to eat well, and this has given us the chance to take a lot of walks, to prepare a lot of meals, and spend a fair amount of time at the gym together. It’s been nice.

But here’s the thing I’ve noticed about the tenor of our weight-loss efforts: they’re not frantic, angsty, “NOTHING TASTES BETTER THAN BEING THIN FEELS” bullshit flailing about in the land of small salads and three-hour gym visits. When I was 23 I got into the best shape of my life; I looked great, rocked a 30-inch waist and thought I looked fantastic. But do you know how I did it? BY BEING TWENTY-THREE YEARS OLD, mainly, but also by working out a ridiculous amount six days a week and eating just enough to avoid kidney failure. It’s also possible that ephedra was involved, before they banned it, but only just for awhile. Then, when I got sick of working out so much, I took up smoking a pack a day.

God, I looked so great. I still have most of those clothes, too. They’re in the bottom of my closet; Sam sleeps on them.

Then a whole bunch of stuff happened. I got older – dammit. WHO KNEW? Also, I quit smoking a pack a day, because I had traded up to Newports, which I only did because they were the only cigarettes I could buy with the absolute certainty that at the end of the night, people wouldn’t have bummed my entire pack away from me. I went to live with my dad and grew up a whole bunch.

I quit smoking, really, truly quit, when I started grad school. The same day, actually. Four months into that project I fell in love with Brian, and a few months after that I became a teaching assistant for the broadcasting department at my journalism school, which was an experience so stressful I occasionally have surreal flashbacks; it was my Vietnam.

Some people lose weight when they’re stressed. I gain. I GAIN. In 2 years my waist went from a 30 to like a 34, 35 at least. And it’s gone up and down since then, because every once in awhile – twice a year, say – I’d get so disgusted with my disgusting self that I’d throw all my determination behind going to the gym and eating like a bird with diarrhea. Until I got sick of that, because that kind of determination gets old, eventually.

But being in love does a funny thing to your vanity, or at least, it did to mine; it started to suffocate it. It’s wonderful being able to see yourself through the eyes of someone who loves you and finds you attractive. It took awhile – we’re almost five years into this relationship and I still stare awkwardly at myself in the mirror almost every morning. But I do it less.

For the first time in my life I am keenly aware that I have much better things to do than sit around looking sexy, that I have more to give this world than what it can see. So two weekends ago when my dad came up and wanted to take us all out to Eischen’s for more fried chicken than the human body was meant to hold, I did. And I ate until I stopped being hungry; it was delicious and revelatory. When I’m at the gym and I am sick to death of working out, I stop. When I pass by the overfull candy dish at work and my taste buds are SCREAMING for something sweet, I ask us if we’d like to have a Starburst. And I have one. And I don’t go around for the rest of the day feeling like I’ve done something naughty.

I’ll never look like I did at 23. Never again. I’m turning 30 next year, and the thing I love the most about getting older is how I’ve grown out of my youthful attitude that everything in my life has to be all or nothing. Just because I had a cookie with lunch doesn’t mean I can’t go to the gym. Just because I only had 250 words in me to write for the day doesn’t mean the whole project is crap. I’m probably never going to do a triathlon; that doesn’t mean I can’t spend half an hour on the elliptical every day. Not every thought has to be followed to its ultimate conclusion, and doing the best I can does not require that I destroy myself in the process.

I’m learning how to hold paradoxes and contradictions within myself and just be, better. And to be honest, I wouldn’t trade that for a 31-inch waist, because it’s made my life so easy and free and fun. I like me, now, however I look. I just LIKE ME. Amazing, right? Who knew?