Just the way I am.
That's right. You heard me. Everything about me is perfect, at this moment, always, all ways.
This was the end meditation in a yoga class after we were all stretched and relaxed. In the Savasana pose, I believe it was called. When the instructor first suggested this perfect idea, I nearly jumped out of my freshly yoga-tized skin.
What the hell kinda self talk is that, perfect?
But then I figured, I'm here. Might as well give it a wing. And, surprise surprise. I actually got there. To this foreign internal world of feeling at peace with my body, believing for a few blissful moments that yes, I am perfect. Just the way I am. In this body, in this skin, with this slightly graying head on these mildly rounded shoulders. I am perfect. I, who have been striving in one way (dieting) or another (dieting), nearly all of my life to become .... well, not perfect, but rather to maybe like myself the way I am. To like the way I feel inside my head instead of fighting unflattering views of my essential me-ness.
So after it was all said and done, perfect felt pretty damned good. A magically relaxing carpet ride it was. Peace. Acceptance. Feeling at one with myself.
After class, I headed home and vowed I would sign up for that instructor's class again (I didn't) or at least visit planet perfect on my own again (I haven't). In fact, I lost the instructor's name and she is no longer teaching at the same location. But I know perfect is there, I know the way and I'll get back there.
Update: The above is a recycled post, written about three years ago. I thought of this post the other day after talking to a yoga-devotee in my neighborhood. She was inviting me to attend Sunday morning classes with her. After talking a bit, we figured out that the instructor where she attends is none other than my perfect instructor. So rather than relying on my imperfect history of finding perfect, I'm going to find her. And that perfect me.