Resolutions

A couple weeks ago, I was about 20 hours in to a 26 hour drive from San Francisco to Austin. We were past El Paso, driving on a rural highway through sheer West Texas nothingness, and I saw a shooting star.

I’m a rational, grown, adult woman, so of course I made a wish. Out loud, very quietly, I said “I wish I was thin.” It was instant. Second nature. I’ve made that wish so many times, I didn’t even think about it. I’ve wished for it on birthday candles. Eyelashes. Heads-up pennies, ladybugs, every 11:11 I’ve happened to catch. The universe has asked me a thousand times for my number one desire, and every single time I’ve politely asked to shrink.

What a fucking waste. Like what the fuck, actually?

2020 was a bad year. But I had the privilege of a lot of free time, and I spent the bulk of it trying to take better care of myself. I bought some skincare. Prioritized my sleep. Re-started my running routine, and started lifting the one set of 5-lb dumbbells I managed to find. I worked with a dietitian and started eating more. A lot more! A lot more.

I changed up my social media. I filled my feeds with body-positive diversity. I read so many blog posts and listened to so many podcasts and I learned so much more about society’s fatphobia and my own internalized shame. And still! The first chance I got, I wished for a smaller body.

I’m proud of the habits I built last year, but I know it takes time. So in 2021, for the first time in my life, I’m not resolving to lose weight. I’m actively resolving to NOT resolve to lose weight.

The next time I throw a coin into a fountain, I’m going to wish for a billion dollars. Or twitter fame. Maybe I’ll wish for pain and suffering for my enemies! Or world peace or something, I don’t know. But I’m certainly not going to waste my moment on something as boring as a smaller body.