I don’t like cycling. The ‘thing’ does not yet have a battery and not even an autopilot, and partly because I hate cycling so much, I categorically refuse to buy such an expensive e-bike. Although I’m worth it.
A little more movement in these guts would do me good. Now I take the car at every opportunity. And I love to let my somewhat aggressive self emerge in it and indulge in internally implosive verbal abuse at my fellow road users. Because they are worth it.
The days when I thought of my body as a temple passed its race without even realizing it. Today I am already happy that I have life. And that is not without a struggle or even with pennants. On the other hand, I smoke, drink, and eat what I want. And yes, all that, because I’m worth it.
I have devoted several attempts to quit smoking. To cut down on alcohol. Eating what I really need, instead of what I like. And all those attempts came to nothing. Why? Because I thought life was getting darn boring in all its rigor, all its dullness, and above all, without delicacies. Because I think I’m worth them.
Although I live about ten years less, so to speak. At least I still lived. And I was worth it. I always speak so to myself.
My internal critic is waving that whip in front of my eyes now, can you see it happening? Because hey, that’s not how it works, does it? Do you have to destroy your life, even to damnation, because everything is better without it? Safer? Healthier?
Sometimes I wish I was a little less obstinate.
Sometimes – even if only for a month or so – I switch roles again, and realize that I did feel fitter, cozier and happier when my body was still that temple. Because hey, then I really knew what I was worth. That is, as long as that lasts.