I’m having a hard time formulating my weight loss narrative. This is what recovering English students do: we try to decide what kind of story we’re living.
Scoff all you like, but a lot of how we think about ourselves and the meaning our lives have depends on the stories we tell about ourselves, our familes, and our communities. Having lost over a hundred pounds, I am telling people my story a lot, and thinking about what it means to me, and what it might mean for others.
The typical weight loss narrative is very similar to personal salvation stories: the poor sinning fat person is miserable, sees the light and loses weight, and is saved from a life of obesity.
Being Jewish, I’m a tad suspicious of salvation narratives, especially as the desire to “save” people from whatever imagined spiritual ills has led to the torture and death of so many through the ages. And indeed, many of the “cures” for obesity seem akin to torture; what else do you call surgery that so alters a person’s body that they can’t absorb sufficient nutrition or they vomit if they eat more than a thimble full of food (yes, I’m generalizing here and there are lots of people who don’t feel tortured by their weight loss surgery). Certainly, many people torment themselves because they don’t look like a societal ideal.
I’m also skeptical about how terrible the “fallen” state of obesity really is. You can be fat and healthy. You can also be thin and unhealthy. You can be unhealthy, fat or thin, and still be a worthwhile human being.
The journey narrative is working better for me. The quintessential journey is the Odyssey; coincidentally, I drive an Odyssey. If it isn’t pretentious to name a minivan for one of the world’s greatest epics, surely thinking of my life in these terms can’t be. I’m done fighting a war, and I just want to go home, but there’s many curious things keeping me from my goal. Some places are so comfortable I just don’t want to leave; in others, monsters prevent me from leaving the cave of my fears. On the way, I need the help of others to keep from jumping overboard and drowning myself, so great is the temptation.
An epic sounds much more interesting than a comedy, and, really, there are much funnier people writing about weight loss than me.
Ultimately, if there is any meaning for others in my story, it’s this: you can overcome inertia. You can make major changes to do things differently, to be different. You can effect positive changes not only for yourself, but for your family. Ultimately, the decisions lie with you.
So, what’s your story?
