I had enough energy to sit and read for an hour the other day, yay! I was reading the New Yorker and I stumbled upon the image above, a Whistler sketch for sale. I was immediately taken by this image. It stirred something in me. I found myself gazing at it for a long time, not sure why it struck me so.
Probably the image is just really good art, well executed, and I am taken by that. But after a while I realized it struck me that it looked like me, the way I lay, the curves of my body, even the little fluff. The curves I often curse and stroke ashamedly, put on from inactivity and the lack of ability for years to cook myself healthy food; the subsequent addiction to junk food and slow metabolism.
But this woman is beautiful. I regard her curves affectionately. I feel sympathy for her, want to know her and see her, feel I could love her.
I spend a lot of time at odds with my internal body, with this pain my brain thinks is there but isn’t. But it’s a powerhouse of recovery and endurance, and I appreciate that when I can bring myself to.
Have you had one of these moments?