L'Avventura

Yesterday morning after hot buttered 10-grain apple pancakes and tea, while Mr. A was changing the oil in the truck, I pumped up my bike's flat front tire and rode in the soft misting rain, still in my socks and pajamas, all the way down to where our road dead-ends in a private wildflower preserve and then turned around and coasted all the way back home. I'm recording it because first of all it was such a delightful experience – all that lovely fresh air and lush greenery – and also because I want to remember how it felt to climb onto the bike again after not having ridden it for just over three weeks, and to feel once again, just as I did the first time I ever rode it, the shock of a truly perfect fit.

I knew I loved that bike, but my body had forgotten how right for me it really is. What a difference! As a shorter-than-average person I've spent my whole life rolling up my pants and sleeves, sitting on pillows in driver's seats that have been scooted as far forward as they will go, swinging my legs from office chairs that are too tall for my feet to touch the floor, looking for things to stand on in order to reach the top shelf, and just generally making do with things that do not fit, and/or trying to accommodate myself to a world that is mostly designed for people larger and longer-limbed than I am. Riding a bike that feels like it was built just for me, with exactly the right heights and distances and angles and proportions ... it's a very satisfying feeling.

So today I am giving thanks for my beloved bike, and for all things that feel right, right from the get-go!

In other news, I've been on the scale at least a half a dozen times since Friday and it appears the springs are not broken, the dial is not distorted, and nothing is wrong with my eyes. I really did lose some weight! Why do I find this so amazing? I'm not sure. I guess I just didn't believe anything would happen.

After thinking about it a bit though I've realized it's not true that I didn't do anything but stop eating sugar and refined flour. There are two other things that have changed. One is, since Mr. A has been traveling again I've been feeding myself instead of eating what he cooks, which means dinner is usually a few sticks of celery with peanut butter or half a yam, instead of guy-sized portions of steak with caramelized onions and gorgonzola crumbled over the top, buttery sauteed vegetables, caesar salad and a bowl of some baked apple or berry crumbly thing with a little cream poured over the top (what can I say, the man loves to cook). Also, instead of chewing only until things are in small enough pieces to swallow, often while sitting at my desk or standing in the kitchen, I've started eating at the table and thoroughly chewing everything until it turns into a liquid and slips down my throat. So maybe I'm actually eating less, too.

Sigh. Right now he's gone again, just for a few days this time; I got up at 4 this morning to drive him to the airport. On the way there I was thinking about an ex-husband dream I'd been having when the alarm woke me up, which led to a weird sort of epiphany having to do with the effect of my low self-esteem on the relationships I had in my 20s, and everything I lost because I was so hesitant to stand up for myself. I felt strangely bereft all morning.

Over the weekend we watched L'Avventura, an Italian art flick that has been on my list forever. The first time through I have to admit my main reaction was something along the lines of "Yawn." Also, "Huh?" It was visually beautiful, but I didn't feel like I really understood why it's considered such a classic. Then we watched it with the commentary on, and suddenly every scene was like a light bulb turning on. Like, of course that's what it was all about! I understand everything now!

Sometimes I have wished for a button like that for life, that I could flick on for a few lines of explanation when things start feeling dangerously dull or incongruous. But that would spoil the experience, wouldn't it? Isn't it better to make your own observations first, rather than trying to live by someone else's interpretation of what everything "means?"

Yes, it is. All the same, as I was explaining to Mr. A, I still think it's useful to learn to look at film (or literature, or any other kind of art) from multiple perspectives – as the artist who's creating it, as the various actors, as the story itself, as a viewer or witness, etc. – because it helps cultivate the ability to see any story that way – every story, including (especially!) my own. To me this is a wonderful feeling, powerful and free. It's very liberating to realize that nothing is ever all one way, and much more interesting.