I went "home" for the weekend last week--back to Madison, where I lived for 16 years. It was great to see old friends, neighbors, acquaintances, etc., and very emotional, too. It takes time, lots of time, to forge friendships. This year is rather a lonely year in Syracuse.
It was great to see those friends, but I really wish so many of them hadn't commented on my weight. The consensus seemed to be that I was looking better than usual so I must have lost weight. This conflation really, really bugs me. Why is a weight loss always associated with looking good?
I went to the doctor today and got on the scale for the first time in probably 6 months. Yes, I have lost a couple of pounds, but not, as one friend suggested, "a ton of weight!" For someone my size--five foot one and a little, 161 pounds--a couple of pounds makes little visible difference.
"You look good because you're happy," my husband pointed out. That's right. I'm engaged and invigorated by my new work and by the challenges and curiosities of making a home in a new place, and it shows.
I look forward to a day when looking good and losing weight are two separate and distinct ideas. And when we think twice before mentioning them in the same breath.