Gobsmacked by gratitude

You know those fleeting moments of grace? Sure you do. They come unbidden. They grab you by the gut or maybe they infuse the fourth chakra. You are transformed. Transported. And then, poof. You’re back again, back to who you were before. And as hard as you work, you can’t recapture the moment. Because that is the nature of grace.

I wish I could report that my moments of grace are spiritual epiphanies. Almost always not. The closest I come is when the beauty of the place I call home washes over me. Not a stunning sunset, or the light filtered through Doug fir forest. I expect that. (Yes, I am just that privileged.) But something quieter, subtler. Like twenty big fat bees busying themselves in the head of a yellow sunflower. Or the hiss of rain at 2 in the morning in the midst of the dog days of August.

And now, with that set-up, I wish I could report that my fleeting moment of grace yesterday (in the car—how prosaic–heading over the hill into town) was about the innate goodness of humankind or how (thank you Incredible String Band) everything-is-a-part-of-everything-anyway. It wasn’t.

It was about my body.

Like just about every woman I know, I have nit-picked, disparaged, and more than occasionally hated body. I have frowned into many a mirror. I have said mean things about myself that I would never ever say about anyone else. Google “women hate their bodies, and 12 seconds later you get 76 million results. But really, I don’t have to click. I know. I also know that the weight of our obsession is not the poundage but the sexist, ageist, able-ist burden we carry. And yet I hear and too often listen to that unforgiving, relentlessly critical voice

Then yesterday, from out of nowhere, driving down the road, I was gobsmacked by gratitude. For my body. This body that has supported healthy pregnancies and fought off malignancies, this body that runs and keep on running without injuries, this body that goes on mountain hikes and long-distance bike rides, this body that has relearned how to put itself to sleep with ease. This perfect imperfect body I have been living in for more than half a century.

Thank you! I blurted out in the car, surprising myself. Thank you! I yelled again when I recognized the moment of grace.

And then it was gone. And I continued down the road and stopped in the grocery store and didn’t buy that baguette because, you know, it goes right to my thighs.