I'm not afraid of aging. I've been looking forward to my retirement years since I was in my thirties juggling four children and working two, part-time jobs. While others bemoan the toll that aging takes on their bodies and their lifestyle, I'm pouring over travel sites and counting down the days until I can pull out of the driveway in a brand spanking new RV.
However nice it was, my days wearing that particular pair of mind-blowingly tight black jeans didn't actually win me much in the way of happiness. I realized that the things that bothered me -- like my inability to feel confidence in my own worth -- weren't just about my body. They were about a state of mind that living in that body had fostered.
I just bought a brand new digital bathroom scale, so naturally I step on it every time I'm anywhere near the bathroom in order to watch my weight fluctuate. A mammoth salad for lunch? I'm up two pounds! A pleasant ramble with the Yorkie-poo? They've gone! Dinner at my sister's house? They're back! But by tomorrow morning, they'll probably be gone again. Or not.