You may or may not be familiar with this word. If you aren’t, that’s probably a good thing.
Merriam-Webster defines it as: pathological preoccupation with an imagined or slight physical defect of one’s body to the point of causing significant stress or behavioral impairment in several areas (such as work and personal relationships).
Dictionary reference simply states: a mental disorder characterized by distorted body image and obsessions about perceived physical shortcomings.
Okay, hold on to your socks as this will be a HUGE surprise to you, but I have a bit of a body dysmorphia problem.
I know – me? Mr. Sanity?
(Source: The Bliss Project)
When I look in the mirror I see flabby jowls, skinny arms, chest, and calves and an almost pregnant looking abdomen.
Continue reading Dysmorphia: why don’t I see what you see?
Ann and I have been having a bit of a laugh at my expense these last few days.
I slipped in to the hospital for a cervical fusion at a couple of levels last Friday. Being Superman in my own mind, I was sure that within a few days I’d be chomping at the bit to be swinging my arms while I walked briskly to hurriedly heal in my recovery.
I’d give it until Monday until I needed to be up to speed again (I would imagine that in my case up to speed would be a relative term?).
Anything else simply would not work for me; just too inconvenient.
Hence, Ann’s laughter.
I was having a bit of a pity party last night while Ann cleaned the bathrooms (clearly my responsibility) after she had a long day at work.
To me it seemed unbearable to go the few weeks of crushed machismo to have Ann do some of the things that I had promised her I would always handle. It made me look like a big wuss (kind of ironic how I felt that was the cause of my wussiness and not the constant moaning…)
Continue reading Overestimating our own integrity
Doubt: A feeling of uncertainty or lack of conviction.
Have we gotten to the point in society that to doubt is synonymous with being wishy washy?
When was the last time we heard someone say “I’m just not sure about that; I need to think about it some more”.
Maybe here and there in private, but very rarely in public.
Especially if it is someone who wants to be seen as knowing what they are doing.
Well, let me say right off the bat that I am someone who, for the most part, has no idea what I am doing.
I’d rather be someone who is learning and growing and changing. I’m not sure that I will ever “arrive”; rather, I’ll just keep plugging along.
Continue reading To doubt or not to doubt – is that really the question?
(Featured Image Source: AlexBatty.org)
For most of my life I have watched some of the things that people do and wondered out loud “Were they dropped on their head as a child?”
You know who I mean:
The man who regularly cheats on his wife, but then is furious when she strays.
The person who embezzles and then blames the one who discovers the fraud for ruining his life.
The thief who orders the bank manager at gunpoint to go into the safe and bring him all “his” money.
The bully who repeatedly tells his victims “you made me do this, it’s all your fault”.
The religious fanatic who, in the name of God, commits a myriad of atrocities.
And politics… oh my, where do we begin?
I’ve had many private soliloquies over the years of how I would rationally discuss each situation, pointing out what must be so painfully obvious to any sane person.
Continue reading Facing irrationality rationally
I have always loved music and dance. I used to tell people that it was woven throughout my soul while tapping my toes and aching to get up and moving. Now I just close my eyes and let the melody fill me up.
Age will do that to you.
When I was a kid my sister had an amazing record collection. Her tastes were a little eclectic so we were exposed to quite a balanced variety.
My mom had a pretty good 8-track collection that she played on the same stereo. We all groaned when she would assert the equal-time rule between what we considered to be our music and her music.
She liked all that old stuff; the instrumental, some Jim Nabors, you get the idea. We called it “elevator music” and mocked it every chance we could get away with it.
But when it was our turn, that record player was turned up and we danced and danced and danced around the living room, into the kitchen, up and down the stairs, and anywhere else that we could still hear the beat. Continue reading What’s old is new; what’s new is old