I turned 33 last month. In a conversation leading up to my birthday, one of my girlfriends (in ruminating on her own upcoming 33rd birthday), commented that this particular year reminds her of Jesus. A Catholic-educated Muslim, she knows tradition teaches that Jesus died at 33.
In contemplating this, we discussed how our lives, at this age, stack up against Jesus’. Ultimately, we decided they don’t. Jesus started a movement, which challenged the political and religious institutions of his day; healed people; walked several marathons as a traveling rabbi; saved the world; prompted a new genre of literature (the gospel); lived a compassion-filled, selfless existence; and revolutionized the fishing industry. While intentionally comedic, the conversation planted seeds for more serious reflection, and caused me to meditate not on the last 33 years, but the last six months...
I’ve struggled with body image most of my life. This largely stems from my nine year stint as a gymnast, having participated in a sport that prized perfect, petite, puerile physiques. In the gymnastics world, if you were taller than 5’2’’, heavier than 90 pounds, or older than 18, you were past your prime, and for all competitive purposes, had peaked.
As an adult, this has translated into a distorted perception of what my body looks like, a general discontentment with my appearance, and at times, an unhealthy relationship with exercise. Strangely this has also manifested in a desire to look like either extreme on what I deem the “body attractiveness spectrum”—in an ideal world, I’d prefer to be a curvy, voluptuous African-American woman or a waif-like European model with a significant thigh gap...
I greatly enjoy Imgur (though this has been a slow discovery, and indoctrination, process). It’s full of hilarious, albeit foolish, moments documented on video or photo. I laughed for four days after first seeing this (actually, I still laugh every time I see it): http://imgur.com/gallery/uRzprXO...
Fear and risk are two peas in a pod.
In light of my last post, it goes without saying that I don’t like risk. For this reason, I’ve given it the following acronym: Really Intense Side Kicks (to the kidneys).
In UFC (Ultimate Fighting Championship), when fighters take shots to the kidneys, they either collapse, keep moving in a semi-delirious state, or attack with a surprising ferocity...
In Sheryl Sandberg’s book, Lean In, she asks her readers, “What would you do if you weren’t afraid?”
This hard-hitting question sent me into a minor tailspin. After some extensive journaling, I came up with the following list:
1) I’d quit my job
2) I’d go on a date
3) I’d write a book
4) I’d leave Fresno
5) I’d travel
6) I’d get my PhD
This was in October 2013...
