Giddy up!

I'm not a great reader of self-help books. Call me biased (You're biased. ed.), but whenever I see the authors on talk shows, they really have a cookie cutter look about them. The women have impossibly kempt hair. The men use too much spray tan. And they all go to the same cosmetic orthodontist - not so much a mouthful of teeth but looking as though someone had surgically implanted a white picket fence on their gum line. And strange, whatever magic pill/philosophy/claptrap they yammer on about, be it getting out of debt, having a successful marriage, wearing the right clothes when, how to be happy, etc., they mostly all seem to have the same preamble:

"I used to be fat."

The implication is, to my mind, that being fat is the common denominator of failure with regards to debt, marriage woes, no sense of colour coordination, attaining true and lasting happiness and the rest. And it hints of ignorance as well. "Fat people must be dumb. They can't count calories, how can they possibly balance a cheque-book?"  "Fat people have a high risk of divorce because they repulse their mate. If they'd only lose weight it would spark it up again!" "This year, the look is tight. Fat people will be ugly and therefore not advance in the social strata."  You get the idea.

And so, these gurus go about fixing their woe of choice and they discover something amazing: wouldn't you know it, it was the weight that was holding them back all along!  They weren't irresponsible with money, their ass was too big! They didn't get promoted because of their shoddy work, it was their chaffing thighs that did them in!  Oh glory, halleluia, Nirvana was attained and now they can take their place amongst the financially sound, well dressed, happily married happy people!  And you can too!  Purchase the book/video/audio cassette/magic change purse, and you can join them in the rarified air of the blessed!  And you will be happy!

Fuck. That.

I'm not saying that everything in my life is bon-bons and puppies in baskets, but I've just spent the last 24 hours or so in a soaringly good mood.  I'm a fat gal that paid all her bills yesterday, got thanked by her superiors for doing a great job, expertly applied a new shade of lipstick, and got a hug.  I ate my healthy homemade lunch, went for a power walk after work, and have a long weekend to do whatever I choose.  And I am fat - with less than spectacular hair, skin of an indistinct pallor and teeth that are mine.  And I woke up giddy!

With every depressed phase I go through, I've been through enough that I know that it too shall pass and I will once again enjoy the kinda day I've had.  It's that faith thing again, but it's also allowing oneself to look at one thing, any thing, that brings a smile to your face and try to have that feeling touch on the spaces in your heart or soul that need a little brightening.  I'm telling you, that one seemingly miniscule particle of "YAY!" can be contagious. It can spread.  And it makes things so much easier.

Misery pushes people away from you.  A wee bit o' glee pulls 'em right in.  And you gotta have people with you for this journey, our journey here and now, because it's hard to stay focused and convinced and, well, happy with it all sometimes.  Frustration, anger, negative Nellies that crawl out of the woodwork, these things have to be held at bay, and if they do breach the barricades, your peeps can help you stem the tide.

And babies, seriously, sometimes you just gotta fake it. Here's what I do on those ick days; I force a smile onto this face and look in the mirror while I'm doing it.  I look like an idiot.  And then I giggle...

The gateway to giddy.

LiliLaLarge