For awhile I’ve thought daily “I think about how unhappy I am with my body daily” and I wonder what it would be like to just move the way an animal moves, without there being a moral hierarchy of how they do it.
When a fox leaps, it just leaps. When it is a darker shade of brown or less nimble or more cunning, these are biological factors, good and bad, but they aren’t indications of the ways in which this singular fox has failed.
They aren’t like the ways I have failed. They aren’t like these things I carry with me. They aren’t so heavy.
The way I think about biology is that I want to write an anatomy book but all the parts of my body are just labeled “something for you to forgive.”
“Something I need you to look past.”
“Something someone else told me to change.” “Something someone else told me was not worth loving.”
It takes so much work to be a human. Some days I wake up and I can’t believe we have to go on and on.