on the day I learned I was not aboriginal

Hello by tosya on etsy

It was my first day of grade three. We had moved in the summer, from in town to five miles out of town, just down the road from the reserve. I was a kid. Everything was new. I didn't have buddies on the block anymore: my nearest friend was a mile-and-a-half bike ride away. I couldn't walk to school anymore: I shared a seat on the bus. I wouldn't be coming home for lunch anymore: instead, I carried my cherry red Mickey Mouse lunchbox. 

So, when I found my way to the right classroom, and sat in my assigned chair, you can bet that I was up for anything good. 

New teacher: she was old. National anthem: we sang it. But no Lord's Prayer after, like before. That's okay. Roll call: "Lori-Ann." Well, that's my name, but. . . not what everybody called me. Some kids were asked for the band number. I felt left out. But too shy to ask for that special question.

I came home that night, exhausted, trying to remember the names of the girls who I would sit with for the next six years on the bus, but excited, too. A new school! New friends! And I asked my mom, "What's my band number?"

She smiled. And told me that I didn't have one. That was only for kids from the reservation. And I'm not one of them.

what to say about someone else's weight

Life is beautiful street art graffiti print by StreetArtOnCanvas on etsy.

Nothing. Zero. Zip. 

That's what to say about someone else's weight: zilch. In their presence or away from it. Unless you are a health care professional, who is in this moment hired to advise on someone else's weight, there is nothing to say. Nada.

A friend once told me how she was so shy, she nearly didn't go to university. She said, at that time, that when she went to her local coffeeshop, the server would bark at her, "Hey, fat girl. Wanna coffee?" She'd nod and take her drink, not speaking because it wasn't okay to be the size she was. 

When I met her, she was strong and lively. She ultimately lost a lot of weight. We didn't talk about why or how. She looked sick. And then she died.

In this part of the world; at this time of the year, in particular; people want to talk about their weight. How they think they are too fat, and they made a resolution. Or, how happy they are that they are the same size that they were last year. Much widely-distributed communication is about how we need to think about changing our size. In particular, to become smaller.

People get bigger; people get smaller. We observe. We don't know if it's due to physical illness, mental illness, physician-demanded weight change, healthy or unhealthy dieting, and so on.

And, it's none of our business.

But really, aren't there more interesting things to talk about? More interesting than size and weight? I want in on those conversations.

Because life, in all of its sizes, is beautiful. Isn't it?

on starting

 1922 Swimsuit Photo, Miss America Contestants at Hotel Pool in Washington D.C. by eebeevintage on etsy  

from January 1, 2014. . . and I still feel it as strongly, a year later.

I was at the pool one day last month when a former colleague, who also swims, commented on my being there.

See, at one time, I swam competitively. And then I used it as a means of hating my body. And, there have been times that became more obsessive than healthy. And I had seen her there in those times.

She asked, “Are you going to start coming back?”

Well, see, what about being at the pool means that I haven’t “started” anything? Or what’s to say that it’s the start of anything, and not simply a morning at the pool?

I’ve been going to the pool, this time, on my own terms. Two or three times per week. With compassion, toward myself and my body. Going when I feel like going, not keeping track of distance, and not following any kind of workout schedule. It’s like meditation for me.

No “starting,” simply being.

So, on New Year’s day, I’m all for celebrating the moment. Of being. Maybe also reflecting on the year gone by, and thinking toward the year ahead.

But no “starting.” Simply being.

(originally published on January 1, 2014, at my now defunct former space borealtrim.com)

I wish you painlessness

original nude figure painting by lanasfineart on etsy

Are you feeling a little grumpy? Or duller than your normal, sparkling self?

. . . is it possible that you are also carrying pain?

I believe that pain comes in many flavours. There’s the outright stabbing pain—like the kind felt when you shift something in your back. There’s dull pain, like a throbbing headache. There’s the indescribable emotional pain of significant loss. There’s the pain-in-the-neck pain of not finding a parking spot or having your second head cold this season. There’s pain-over-time of real and felt injustices, the kind that can accumulate over years and bend us over with their weight. And, surely; sadly; many more.

Never underestimate the power of pain.

When we feel pain, we tend to respond less kindly, to ourselves and others, than normal. We can move into judging. Pain zaps energy, leaving less for kind conversation, or giving toward others.

I felt pain this week. The kind of low back, difficult-to-stand-up-straight pain. The kind that makes it an effort to get into the car and then also to reach out and close the door. I got quiet. I felt like I didn’t have the energy to make a meal, let alone chit-chat while making it. And I didn’t really notice until it went away.

Thought for me: I can be kinder when I encounter people who are less-than-their-stellar-selves. I can wonder, “What kind of pain are they feeling?” And, if a friend is up for it, I can offer an ear to listen or a shoulder for them to lean on.

Thought for you: what kind of pain are you feeling? Is there a way, after acknowledging it, that you can find help to release it?

I wish painlessness for you.

(originally published on December 4, 2013, at my now defunct former space borealtrim.com)