Blessings of a Bigger Body
Sometimes, traveling alone is like traveling on the moon. I am hyper-aware of what needs to be done to get to where I need to go. It’s as if someone turned up the dial on my brain and heart to feel things deeper, breathe in deeper, and see the world in technicolor. I am walking slower now to soak it in. I’m on a road trip to the east coast to see the leaves change color and to visit a bunch of strange museums. I wrap my scarf close to my neck. I check my phone for directions. It’s the start of a new day in Vermont, and I am ready.
Up ahead, I see a man walking towards me. I am five feet, eight inches, or five foot nine if I don’t hunch. And I am big. I am not a slender birch tree supermodel, I am a wide and thick redwood, deeply rooted and sound. My body has been the same since I was 12. Tall and hunched, too big for my britches, but now at 33, I’m growing into them.
When I travel, I am not nervous like I am in my regular life. I am here now. This is my experience, this is my body, and I am going to get through this. I’m going to navigate the hell out of my trip and see everything I want, eat all of the new snacks I find, and get into my pajamas by 6:00pm.
I walk by a man, a man in my regular life I would have crossed the street to avoid, and we are at eye level. I make direct and fierce eye contact.
