This body we have, the one we are sitting inside. As I write. As you read. Whoever “me” is that’s in here, whoever “you” is that’s out there. This body is our vehicle to get around in this life.
This body allows “me” to have experiences.
To write to you. To visit you. To run free. To try a new class. To listen to that song. To show you with a smile or a tear what’s going on inside. To see the same in you.
It takes me to the ocean. To see the seagulls and smell the salt. To watch the tree sway gently in the breeze. To feel the grass under my bare feet. To smell the aroma of fresh coffee in the morning. To taste that first delicious sip. To hug my dear friend. The things that fill my soul.
Looking down I notice a little less definition here. A little fat there. A wrinkle or few around the eyes. Some frizzy hair. Older hands. Scars.
And suddenly it’s all beautiful. Because it allows “me” to have this experience of life. It’s proof I have lived and am living.
This body we have, the one we are sitting inside. It itself is not “me”. “Me” is who this body carries around to live the world.
With that, we may rest the reflection of imperfections and see instead a gift to be appreciated and admired for what it allows us to do.