don't darken my door with your lies
Miracle of miracles, the A train was nearly empty when I hopped it this morning for an early commute. Virtuous patience at work, I'd actually had my eye on the C train, as that's provided both a seat and a longer opportunity to indulge in pleasure-reading. But this A train rolled up after the previous one and looked like New York City had been Rapture'd, so I could not but take advantage. Another surprise layered on top of this bit of thaumaturgy was that I was wide awake, this at maybe a quarter to 7 or so, having woken up at 5 for a chance at peace of mind at the gym. Apart from general questing towards self-actualization, I think I was impelled by a dual-rejection, of last night's spiritual malaise as well as the Popeye's to which I'd acquiesced in the lamenting haze. I went to bed pledging to remember that, in such instances, I'm never as hungry as I think. Often at night, a Nature Valley granola bar before bed has hand-waved hunger away for long enough to sleep more or less contentedly.*
Up and outside just after 5 to find that the sun had beat me to it. Walking, I remembered talking with a friend about how much I used to love getting up at 4.30am to go to the boxing gym in Wash Heights that I used to frequent during law school. To feel as though I were the first person awake, certainly the first person on that block, was empowering; it felt industrious. It felt like progress, of one sort or another.
And then there's the arrival at the office at a quarter to 8, before anyone else has checked in. People ask if and why I'm a morning person, and this is what comes, swiftly, to mind. Solitude where industriousness and purposefulness can stumble upon fertile soil.
* I'm getting at that age, it seems, where weight put on can't simply be ab-crunched away the next morning. It was inevitable, but a part of me expected to have my early-20s metabolism forever, forgetting of course that much of what turned my body into Teflon re weight gain was acid-reflux-inducing stress brought about by financial instability, some lethal habits in which I'd regularly engaged, and spending upwards of 20 hours on Metro-North a week for multiple semesters. There also wasn't much eating.
With the advent of stress, certainly into adulthood, I've been a chronic undereater, and there was a morbid pride that came with friends/family remarking on how swiftly I lost weight. One semester, I believe it was some time in my second year of law school, I'd lost between 15-20 pounds, and the only way I could tell the difference was that my hoodie hung a little looser on me than it had before. Certainly not the most extreme version, not nearly as extreme as that point during my time at the Carter Center before my financial aid kicked in, I had just over $12 to my name, and my hip bones protruded. Often, food has been the first thing to get cut from any routine, certainly reduced, when pressure seeks to turn this piece of coal into diamond, and even now when I know for a fact that such extreme weight fluctuation isn't the epitome of health, old habits have a hard time dying.
Now carries a different texture. My inclination towards salads now, coupled with a recent severe reduction in appetite (the body seems to be changing in interesting ways), could perhaps be me subconsciously preparing myself for Ramadan. A friend reminded me earlier this week that a packet of Skittles does not a lunch make. I flashed back to those weeks in Atlanta when the only things I could consume during the day, when we weren't having Bagel Fridays, were coffee and office M&Ms. The person who'll be guiding me through Ramadan this year spoke with wonder about her own experience with it and how very often the fasting had unlocked new dimensions in her, and she realized how focused she could become, how much work she could accomplish during the day. I've written before on how religiously-inspired deprivation is a bit of a peculiarity of mine (emboldened a bit, perhaps, by that William James book that has become a bit of a second Bible for me). But I've never engaged in purposeful full-on fasting before. I do hope this will ameliorate some of those pesky, underlying, destructive impulses and impel me even more towards health.
Up and outside just after 5 to find that the sun had beat me to it. Walking, I remembered talking with a friend about how much I used to love getting up at 4.30am to go to the boxing gym in Wash Heights that I used to frequent during law school. To feel as though I were the first person awake, certainly the first person on that block, was empowering; it felt industrious. It felt like progress, of one sort or another.
And then there's the arrival at the office at a quarter to 8, before anyone else has checked in. People ask if and why I'm a morning person, and this is what comes, swiftly, to mind. Solitude where industriousness and purposefulness can stumble upon fertile soil.
* I'm getting at that age, it seems, where weight put on can't simply be ab-crunched away the next morning. It was inevitable, but a part of me expected to have my early-20s metabolism forever, forgetting of course that much of what turned my body into Teflon re weight gain was acid-reflux-inducing stress brought about by financial instability, some lethal habits in which I'd regularly engaged, and spending upwards of 20 hours on Metro-North a week for multiple semesters. There also wasn't much eating.
With the advent of stress, certainly into adulthood, I've been a chronic undereater, and there was a morbid pride that came with friends/family remarking on how swiftly I lost weight. One semester, I believe it was some time in my second year of law school, I'd lost between 15-20 pounds, and the only way I could tell the difference was that my hoodie hung a little looser on me than it had before. Certainly not the most extreme version, not nearly as extreme as that point during my time at the Carter Center before my financial aid kicked in, I had just over $12 to my name, and my hip bones protruded. Often, food has been the first thing to get cut from any routine, certainly reduced, when pressure seeks to turn this piece of coal into diamond, and even now when I know for a fact that such extreme weight fluctuation isn't the epitome of health, old habits have a hard time dying.
Now carries a different texture. My inclination towards salads now, coupled with a recent severe reduction in appetite (the body seems to be changing in interesting ways), could perhaps be me subconsciously preparing myself for Ramadan. A friend reminded me earlier this week that a packet of Skittles does not a lunch make. I flashed back to those weeks in Atlanta when the only things I could consume during the day, when we weren't having Bagel Fridays, were coffee and office M&Ms. The person who'll be guiding me through Ramadan this year spoke with wonder about her own experience with it and how very often the fasting had unlocked new dimensions in her, and she realized how focused she could become, how much work she could accomplish during the day. I've written before on how religiously-inspired deprivation is a bit of a peculiarity of mine (emboldened a bit, perhaps, by that William James book that has become a bit of a second Bible for me). But I've never engaged in purposeful full-on fasting before. I do hope this will ameliorate some of those pesky, underlying, destructive impulses and impel me even more towards health.