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Hello Dear One,

It has been many years since I’ve written to you. Apologies, recriminations, delusions, and denials are compulsory; however, I choose to speak with you from a place of love, with love, and resting upon love.

I love you. I do. I often wonder why I cannot treat you with the full respect that you deserve. You are worthy. You are a unique and wondrous being. A living, breathing, pulsing paradox of water, tissue, and bone. Hearty yet infirmed, strong yet fragile, assaulted yet resilient.

Life’s slings and arrows come our way and you’ve always come through for us. Somehow you soldiered on when I was clueless about what to do next. Whether balled up on the floor in the hallway when we couldn’t make it back to our bed or lingering perilously close to unconsciousness while struggling to stay upright on the commode, or propped up in a hospital bed wondering when we could go home again, you have held us down. You gave everything that you had. Thank you.

Yet I am derelict in my calling to be our champion now. A permanent paradigm shift is in order. A lifestyle change as my doctor likes to call it.

You are what you eat.

What a man thinketh, so he becomes.

The pain of regret dwarfs the pain of sacrifice.

It’s time for a divorce. French fries, Ben ‘n Jerry’s ice cream, chicken wings fried hard, and all of the wonderful fatty and starchy culinary delights, you’ve abused us enough! I’ve left you many times, yet always returned!

Hey, Body, how am I doing?

I’m tired of processing guilt and regret, much like I’m certain that you are tired of weathering storms of glucose and fat.

You know, the mirror punched me in the face last week. The moment was nothing spectacular. Just a peripheral glance in the mirror and I saw my belly robustly flopping over my waistline. Not since we treaded into the 300-plus pound range, had we been so blind to this persistent sight. Even then, I loved you; however, I was too occupied with the pursuit of degrees and intellectual delights.

Now, I’m a starving artist and you are my constant companion that I often feel unworthy of. As always, your struggles are mine, but I can no longer ignore your cries.

Some time ago, my neglect broke some parts of you. I wonder whether I can fix what has been broken. While the broken elements may never be what they once were, perhaps I can embrace the wisdom of Wabi Sabi. Imperfection as beauty and power.