Dangerous Happiness

As soon as I started to digitalize old photos, I kept asking myself how big I was in that particular instant. Yes, one of those fat or no fat posts… If by chance you are like me, this is the moment to stop. Yet, if you stick around, there is a little more in here than fat related content.

Some time ago I decided not to write about weight because that is a matter to dwell on another stances. Well, here I am, despite my own decision. I think I reached an important conclusion and writing it down might help.

My problem is not weight but yo-yo weight. I seem to jump from 52 to 62kg. At 20 I was 48kg, but I suppose this is only a run-away reminiscence, an unrealistic goal to reach. All this is not new. What is new is the reason I keep jumping from 52 to 62. In part the answer is the obvious one: active or sedentary. But there’s more to it.

Whenever I am less than 55kgs, I start to feel really good. Feeling good is a source of inexplicable happiness. It’s not that I look into the mirror and see myself looking good. I have one of those despicable minds trying to trick me into thinking that I look better with 60kg, even when all the other minds around say that I look far better with a stone less. The reason of my happiness is feeling light and active and with strength enough to kick the moon.

Amongst other things, fat free happiness makes me feel like cooking, going out and enjoying all the good things – such as eating and drinking a glass of wine. In two words, I feel good because I’ve lost weight and I gain weight because I feel good. Having realized that, I just wonder if there’s a way out.

This week a ballet colleague messaged asking me to do something about returning to the barre. When I am active I don’t have ups and downs. As I promised her, I’ll do the necessary démarches. Meanwhile, I stepped from addicted to closets to addicted to pins. I only realized I was at risk when I understood that pinning is the place for a scrapbooking enthusiast to be.

All in all, knowing ourselves is an unstoppable process. It’s up to us to make it fun or a tragedy. I fight going to sleep, but once there I’ll sleep like a rock and have difficulties in returning back. It can be simple laziness… Yet, I am convinced I suffer from the Sleeping Beauty syndrome. I spend half morning in bed waiting for the kisses of a prince.

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