Space Needle Love
In case you hadn’t heard it from one of the many bullhorns I’ve been braying it from, I’m doing my civic duty this week by participating in the criminal justice system’s jury duty! It’s one of those things that I have always been curious about and, frankly, have wanted to participate in. Now that I’m here I find the process a little unnerving, and having the responsibility of someone’s legal life in my hands has great gravity all of the sudden. I suddenly realized that they try murderers and all kinds of crazy crime here. Seriously. No one is here because they found the last remaining pair of unicorns or something…
Anyhow, my family was nice enough to drive me down to the King County Courthouse this morning and it’s been the first time that I’ve been in a frame of mind that allowed me to see the Space Needle again. Right now it’s all gorgeous with festive lights descending from the Wheedle on the Needle (the aircraft warning light) to the halo of the Space Needle, and as each strand connects in a perfect circle it makes the shape of a holiday tree. It’s a beautiful jewel in the Seattle skyline during the holidays.
But this time I saw more than a lit up Space Needle. This time I saw triumph. I claimed that thing in little over 12 minutes this past October. I ascended that tower like an athlete- I conquered it like a badass. I climbed that. Me. And suddenly I saw the Space Needle as more than a symbol for my beloved city of Seattle, I saw it as a symbol of my achievement. Not only for the act of going from the bottom to the top on my own two feet on that day, but really just the fact that I can climb the Space Needle, now. The Space Needle has become the physical manifestation of my project; my trophy. The Space Needle became a little bit mine on that day and I love that building for it. It’s funny how inanimate objects can come to symbolize so much. I cried, this morning, looking at that weird version of the future, knowing it was there for my unexpected future.
I’m kind of going through a thing, right now. I generally accept this weightloss thing like its no big deal, but holy cow. Lately I’m seeing it, again. I’m seeing the black and white of the before and after life I lead. I see the quality of life that I have now and am in awe. Sometimes I’m particularly enamored of what I can do now, but other times it’s related to how I look. Lately that’s where I am- appearances. I keep catching glimpses of myself as I walk from my bedroom window toward my mirror and it shocks me to see how small I am. My clothes don’t catch in fat rolls anymore. I don’t find myself self-consciously tugging on my shirt hems or pulling the fabric away from my stomach. My shirts don’t rise up and sit on my belly anymore, exposing my waistline. I see light shining through the gap between my legs. Muscle definition shows through my skin… I just look normal in that normative way that we expect to look as a kid. I’m not saying it’s better than I used to look, but it’s satisfying, for some reason, to look this way I always wished for as a kid.
More than anything I’m seeing the miracle that I made. I suppose that since I made the miracle, it can’t necessarily be called a miracle, but ten years ago I would have called this a miracle. I had hopes of losing 30-60 pounds and settling at 250 pounds or so, but I never dreamed that I would be this small. So small that I’m considering buying a size 12. It’s miraculous. It was so absolutely ingrained that I was going to be heavy for the rest of my life. I thought genetics had predispositioned me to being obese forever and I was all set not to fight it, to enjoy the life that I was given, so to flip that so entirely has felt miraculous. It’s important to remember that and appreciate how far I’ve come instead of always looking at how much further there is to go.
Love that Space Needle ❤️ My Space Needle.
