VWW-Unclubbable

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Unclubbable

having or showing a disinclination for social activity : unsociable

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And this pretty much sums me up. It is spotlighted during the holiday season with all the parties and mad rush to celebrate. I have no interest in any of it.

Yes, Christmas is great. So is Chanukah, and Yule, and Festivus, and probably Kwanza (I’m woefully ignorant about Kwanza). But it’s getting cold and it’s dark at three in the afternoon. My circadian rhythms are flooding my body with signals to hibernate, not celebrate. I want to crawl under a warm, fuzzy blanket and whisper words of devotion to my pillow.

Lets not even start with the New Years parties. I get it. Out with the old, in with the new. But why? I mean, it’s just some arbitrary date on a calendar. It’s not really a good starting point. I mean, it’s not really mid winter since winter only started on the solstice a few weeks ago. That marked the shortest day of the year. There would be a good place to start over. When the days begin to get longer and the sun returns. I could have a party for the return of the light.

But I probably still wouldn’t go. I hate small talk. I really don’t like socializing. I loathe having to repress my thoughts, opinions, and expression in favor of a socially acceptable mask. Standing in a room full of people I hardly know, holding something I most likely won’t consume, and attempting to be mildly pleasant so no one is offended is exhausting, not entertaining. On the flip side, drunken revelry isn’t appealing either. Who wants to drag themselves out of the house only to be surrounded by strangers with no impulse control? That doesn’t seem fun anymore.

So I am unclubbable.  And I think I am alright with that. You go have fun for me.

Small Talk

i-hate-small-talk-1-638You know you have gained weight when someone you haven’t seen in a while comments. It’s always the same comment casually dropped into the polite small talk.

“Lost some weight, I see.”

You know that isn’t what they mean because when you actually have lost weight its the opening statement and always exclaimed with gusto.

“You’ve lost a ton of weight! You look so good!

 
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OK, what did I look like before? And really, a ton? Sigh.

My size has been my albatross my entire life. Sisyphus had his boulder. I have my scale.

 

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The struggle is real!

 Several years ago I eliminated scales and mirrors from my house. All I have is the mirrors in the bathroom and one to see the back of my hair. They are all shoulder height and up.

 I did this so I would stop the unhealthy obsession with size and appearance. It worked. I focus more on the nutrition and source of my food than I do the fat and calories. It’s reflected in my blood work if not my BMI.

The most surprising result of not having mirrors is how much happier I have been. I worry less about what I look like and how other may perceive me. Removing that vanity focused my attentions on my character. The kind of person I am and my behavior became something I processed as opposed to who found me acceptable to look at. I gained confidence. I grew comfortable with the traits that made my who I am. My body was a conveyance that I maintained. It didn’t happen right away, but it did happen.

Not that insecurities didn’t wiggle their way back in, because of course they did. I would see my reflection in glass walking past a store, or in addressing room mirror and think, “Crap! Less fro-yo and more kale!” Or a photo of me would appear and I would wonder if I really looked like that. But those moments were fleeting.

Then someone tries to slip that backhanded compliment into the conversation and all of the B.S. comes rushing back. The insecurities, the self loathing, the feelings of not being good enough. And you spend the night balancing on the edge of the tub looking at different parts of your body. Analyzing them. Scrutinizing each part and finding it wanting. When will we stop doing this to ourselves?

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