Wednesday, May 30, 2012


Because of my other post yesterday, I didn't write about day 2 of my body love. So I'm meshing two days into one. Think of it as a special -- it's like an hourlong version of a TV show that's typically ony 30 minutes.

Anyway, here goes.

Day two's assignment is to read my patriarchal blessing (given to people of the LDS faith, typically as teenagers, highlighting talents, goals, life paths and other things) and pay attention to strengths and talents mentioned. I actually did think about some of my talents yesterday. I have a freakishly good memory. I am healthy. I have great legs. (Hey, without creepy online guys reminding me about this, somebody else has to take over, right?)

But I think the biggest thing I have been given is empathy. I don't always listen well, my advice is usually not good and almost always unsolicited and I'm a terrible planner. But I can empathize. This is frequently difficult, particularly in my line of work, because I see or read about people at very low points in their lives. Some got there by accident; many got there by their own choices. But still, it is surprisingly easy to feel sorrow for a man in chains and a jail jumpsuit sitting in court. I can make a much stronger argument for mercy than I ever could for justice, even though I strongly believe in justice and that appropriate consequences can teach people lessons. I always, though, lean toward mercy. It may be that one day I will stand before my God and he will tell me that I should have been on the side of more justice. I think, though, I'd rather err on the side of mercy.

Day three is self talk. This I am excellent at. I talk to myself all the time. It's kind of amazing how much I a) argue with myself and b) surprise myself. I'm thinking this is a sign that I'm either intelligent or crazy.

I actually think I have a pretty good relationship with myself. Yes, I sometimes stand in front of the mirror and wish I didn't carry so much body fat around the middle -- or anywhere at all -- and I wish I had curly hair or thicker hair or hair with some personality and a color that wasn't most often characterized as dishwater blond. (Who came up with that hue? Was it thought through at all?) But I don't call myself fat, I don't call myself stupid and then only time I yell at myself is when I'm running and my body wants to stop and my brain refuses to allow such weakness. And I fully support this yelling.

But I will try to stop complaining about my hair.

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