While searching for some old college essays last night, I stumbled upon a forgotten Photobucket album that held 48 pages of memories from the last 10 years. I was thrilled to find this photographic treasure chest and eagerly clicked through them, reliving every moment that I had captured. It's so strange, the things that old photos can evoke. I could somehow remember the smell of my dorm room, the dust in the abandoned apartments upstairs, that specific monsoon season, those nights smoking cloves in a hoodie, that visit to a park in Baltimore, those tears on top of a parking garage, that drive to nowhere, those feelings of hopelessness, that moment of ecstatic joy, that museum trip with the Renoir exhibit, that afternoon spent listening to Jenny Watson and drinking Highlife in the backyard, that week spent on the circus train, and that cup of espresso in Venice. The evolution of me becoming who I am today; my many faces and multiple facets. It all came back to me with such force, it nearly knocked the breath out of me. It was unexpectedly powerful.
And then I caught myself.
I realized that Old Me hated everything about herself. I can see the beauty so clearly now, but she had no idea. She loathed every piece of her body and wished she could trade it in for anything else. Anything. Her self-esteem was nonexistent, though she pretended this wasn't the case. Old Me wanted to die instead of live in that body and I wish I could have hugged her and told her how exquisite she was.
And then I started to sob.
I sobbed for the girl that was so beautiful on the inside and the outside but couldn't see it. I sobbed for the girl who spent years missing out on magical parts of life because her perspective was poisoned. I sobbed for the girl that repeatedly punished herself for not being good enough. And I sobbed for every other girl out there who believes the same lies that she did. I sobbed because these lies destroy lives.
And then my answer came. Retrieving the body of Old Me wouldn't change a thing. I'm fatter than I have ever been and somehow I happier than I have ever been. I have a career and mission in life. I have more fulfilling relationships. I am solid in my beliefs. I have more positive attention. I have people who love me, lovers who want me, and goals that I'm achieving.
I am the happiest I have ever been and this simply proves that happiness is not a size. Happiness is a state of being. Happiness is about finding what you love about yourself and sharing it. Happiness is about taking what you hate about yourself and learning to love it. Happiness is an internal sanctuary where you are enough just as you are, right now.
There is a comic by Toothpaste for Dinner that has a drawing of a fat man saying "I hate myself." The next frame is him as a skinny man saying "Nope, that wasn't it." Every time I read it I smile at the profound truth. We can't treat our mind and bodies well until we learn to love them. Nothing good comes out of finding the flaws and harboring resentment towards ourselves. I was conventionally stunning and hated everything about my body; hurting it repeatedly on purpose. I am unconventionally beautiful now and I find myself with more good days than bad; loving myself. Just the way I am. Right now. And I am happy.
And isn't that what it's all about?