Chapter Four: Spanx so much

They say if you want something

You have to believe

Before you will actually receive.

You have to think positive,

Tell yourself every day

That’s there’s nothing that you can’t achieve.

To say that I’ve been

In a bit of a funk

Would be the understatement of the year

I’m still overweight,

Completely lost my tan

And now have an aversion to mirrors.

But I’ve been reading a lot

About the power of the mind

And the universe’s willingness to give

So in an effort to show

That I’m ready to rock

I went on a lil shopping binge. 

I can’t wear my leggings

With my oversized t-shirt

And wear my hair in a bun everyday…

If I expect to feel pretty

and confident and fun,

There are a few things I’m gonna need to change.

I know fifty pounds

won’t come off overnight

My thigh gap is a thing of the past

My Hawaiian tanned bod

Is an ocean away

My “rockin’ bod” dream’s fading fast.

So I said what the hell

And I got a spray tan…

I’m really not too proud to be fake.

As a matter of fact,

I kissed pride goodbye

And bought me a full-body Spanx.

I immediately tried on

My new slimming wear

Praying it’d make me look hot.

It covers my thighs

And my butt and my gut

But there’s a big hole right over my twat.

Now I know I’m not young

And not up to date

With fashion trends of the sexier crowd…

But crotchless apparel

For everyday wear?

I don’t think that should be allowed.

If I didn’t need unders

To hide all of my flaws

Then I wouldn’t be wearing the Spanx.

I obviously don’t want to play show and tell,

So whatever that hole’s for,

No thanks! 

Post-spray/pre-shower. It got better. I swear.

Ok, so I’m not a complete ditz and I understand that they leave a little “pee” hole when they build the full body armor so that you don’t have to completely disrobe every time nature calls.  I know it’s not for easy access of male parts.  Duh.  But, there are two things I’d like to point out that disturb me a teensy bit about the whole thing.  First: ummm…am I the only female that sometimes…you know…leaks fluid from down there? Be it a sneeze gone awry or…you know…just womanly stuff…I rely on my britches to keep that stuff from running down my legs and onto my shoes, ya know?  So, obviously, you gotta wear unders over the top of the body armor, right? Well, I did, that’s for sure.

My second concern is this: after I donned my Spanx, my unders, my sexy black dress, etc. and realized I had better pee before I left the house, I lifted the dress, pulled down the unders, then spent the next five minutes awkwardly trying to pull the too-tiny-pee-hole open enough to ensure that a wayward spray of urine didn’t drench that one most crucial piece of the day’s attire - all the while trying to hold my dress up with my chin and slide my unders down close enough to my ankles to allow my thighs to spread wide enough for both hands to get up in there and help out.  Ladies…do you ever have a stream of pee shoot straight forward? Or straight backward? Or not have enough force to shoot anywhere so it just sort of trails across your butt cheek until gravity finally pulls it down into the bowl? We aren’t dudes here, for crying out loud.  Are the full-body Spanx actually designed by men? Or just teeny tiny women with teeny tiny lady parts that have teeny tiny nozzles that always beeline straight for their intended destination?  Seriously, it’s easier to pee in the woods without getting any on your shoes than it is to pee through the Spanx hole while sitting on a toilet.  And heaven forbid you are struck with a bout of diarrhea.  Can you imagine? The hole is not big enough to free both exit routes if you catch my drift.  And I don’t know about you, but if my bowels suddenly revolt against me, chances are my bladder isn’t far behind and that is gonna be one helluva trick trying to maneuver that hole just right.

Whatever.  I managed to pee without getting any urine anywhere that couldn’t be washed off with some soap and water in the sink and then refused to pee again for the rest of the day.  And the Spanx did the trick.  I felt an awful lot like a plus-sized model that day.  Bigger than I wanted to be, yes.  But no rolls, no dimples, no back boobs.  And when an old flame that I really don’t like very much at all gave me a sweaty hug and then a little “butt tap” for good measure, I could’ve married my Spanx right then, I was so in love with it.  What would have otherwise been a soggy, wobbly butt tap was undoubtedly a firm encounter indeed.  Eat your heart out, creep.

Granted, the dress was black, the event was outside at 2:00pm on a 95-degree day so every crack, crevice, and ravine of my body was storing at least 8 ounces of sweat the entire afternoon.  But, I’ll give that crotchless fat molder credit…not an ounce of fluid leaked anywhere so it was worth it.  Even the spray tan stayed put.  All in all, it was the best I’ve ever cheated my way to looking.

Same dress. Same Spanx. Different event. No creeps involved.

Truth be told, I shouldn’t have worried so much about what I looked like at this event in the first place. Even though I hadn’t seen any of these people since before The Great Weight Gain of 2017, the people I was truly excited to see and catch up with couldn’t have cared less if I had pasty white legs and back fat.  They probably didn’t even notice that I didn’t have pasty white legs and back fat.  They were genuinely happy to see me HAPPY and I had the best time catching up with them all, sweat pools and all. The people that did care – the ones that probably had a pool going to guess my weight, who made fun of the shape of my eyebrows or the color of my lips; the ones who gave insincere hugs and asked questions with fake sincerity about the current state of my jacked up life – those are the people I’ve made a conscious effort of phase-out of my life and who don’t deserve my time or the money I spent on a spray tan.

The point of all of this isn’t to cheat your way to your best self, however.  The point is, I was finally fed up with not trying, being self-conscious every time I stepped out my front door and closing my eyes when I’d pass a mirror or highly reflective window.  I realized that it was time to put up or shut up, fake it till I make it, believe it to receive it.  I needed to catch a glimpse of my better self to start believing a better self was still out there.  I don’t want to wear Spanx every time I go out.  I’m not coordinated enough to pee incident-free that often.  Not to mention, spray tan smell is one of my least favorite smells ever.  But it felt really good to leave the house feeling like a rock star and it made me want that feeling again.

If I’ve learned anything at all over the last few years - the last two years, in particular - it’s that you don’t get anything by sitting around wishing for it.  I’ve prayed until my knees were raw and the tears falling from my face had soaked through my sheets and drenched my mattress, but nothing happened until I got up off my knees and started doing.  Even the little things like the walks on cold days and the quickie hikes in the mountains I missed so much started leading to ideas, enlightenment and courage. 

Moving to Hawaii was the biggest pipe dream I’d ever had.  Not just since I had a nervous breakdown, either.  Ever since my first trip there 12 years ago, I’d said someday I’d live in Hawaii.  I didn’t actually believe it; I mean, who moves to Hawaii? But I said it every time I visited and every time I thought of what I’d do if I ever won the lottery or wrote a best-selling book or married rich.  So how ironic is it that at the lowest point of my life, at a time when I stopped wearing my seat belt, just hoping a semi-truck would ram into me head-on, I ended up moving to paradise?

It’s not that ironic at all, turns out.  When I started applying for jobs, I actually started applying with travel nursing companies offering positions in Hawaii.  I started looking up the towns that had job listings and researching the market on Airbnb for those towns and visualizing what living in Hawaii might actually mean.  I turned down every offer for travel positions on the mainland and held out for the dream.  I kept praying, don’t get me wrong.  But a thousand prayers a day wouldn’t have been enough to manifest a job on an island if I hadn’t ever taken the time to apply for one.  Duh.

Even arriving in Hawaii didn’t mean my endless hours of praying for hope and peace and love and a light at the end of a very dark financial tunnel would suddenly manifest themselves.  I found hope when I started exploring unmarked trails, when I’d pull off on the side of the highway to watch whales every chance I got, when I’d drive with my sunroof open and my favorite songs blaring on my way to a waterfall two hours away. 

I found hope when I let my neurotic little landlady teach me about acupuncture and stick tiny little needles all over my damaged knee in an effort to help me feel healthy again. (Successfully, I might add. Talk about a “holy freaking crap” moment.)  I found hope when I attended my first meeting at church and was hugged, kissed and welcomed by every person I came in contact with.  I found hope the night I visited the temple grounds in Kona - knowing I couldn’t go in but wanting to feel the spirit there nonetheless – only to have the Temple President (for all you non-Mormons, the Temple President is even a bigger head honcho than a Stake President.  It’s not often you meet them ever, let alone in a dark parking lot) come out after he’d locked up the temple for the night and spend a few minutes chatting with me about my story and how I’d ended up on the island in the first place.  I found hope when he hugged me and told me how proud he was of me for being brave enough to come. 

Kona Temple

I found hope on my last Sunday when that sweet little old lady told me my smile was the smile of my Savior, when only three months before I’d felt darker and further away from any light I ever had in my life.

I found peace when I’d walk around the five acres of jungle I got to call home for 3 months, eating oranges or avocados right off the trees.  I found peace when I’d lay in bed at night with the windows open, the world completely dark, and listen to the trade winds blow through the bamboo trees, creating an eerily calming symphony.  I found peace when I walked to the birthplace of King Kamehameha and wandered around one of the most sacred spots in all of Hawaii, without another soul in sight.  I found peace the night I walked along a deserted beach during the first super moon of the new year, water lapping up over my bare feet, waves glistening in the moonlight. 

First super moon of the year.

I found peace listening to thousands of different birds singing as I walked through a rain forest on my way to an ancient lava lake in the middle of a volcano.  I found peace as I studied the most gorgeous little red flowers growing out of ancient solidified lava and realized that beauty can indeed rise from ashes.

Beauty from the ashes.

I found love when one of my quadriplegic patients couldn’t wait to pull up an old Frank Sinatra song called “Once in Love with Amy” on YouTube and play it for me while all the other residents in the recreation room sang along.  I found love when one of the ER doctors returned from a trip to Joshua Tree and excitedly pulled out several pairs of fake eyelashes he’d found for me at a festival similar to Burning Man.  I found love when I was invited to a family New Year’s Eve dinner with a co-worker who was still essentially a complete stranger, or Sunday dinners almost every week with a sweet little old retired Japanese rancher and his wife.  I found love on my last Sunday on the island when my dear 93-year-old friend insisted I come to his souvenir shop before I headed for the airport to pick gifts for each of my children, and then wouldn’t let me pay a thing.  I was reminded of that love when that same man called me up in Utah a few months later to tell me he was thinking about me - how happy he’d been to get to know me in Kohala and that he hoped I was doing well.  I felt even more love when he ended the conversation with, “I love you. Bye-bye.”

The day I got home to the people that mean the most.

I found love when I discovered that the things I missed most were snuggling on my bed with my kids watching Netflix, or watching one of them have the game of their life or dance their little heart out on a stage in front of hundreds – that love had always and would always be surrounding me.

First game I was back for during his senior season.

I found a light at the end of a very dark financial tunnel when I started working again and being self-sufficient. I found light when I realized that the most profound moments I had on the island hadn’t cost me a thing.  I found light when I discovered that everything I’d needed had fit into a single suitcase and I hadn’t missed a thing I’d left behind.  I found light when I fell in love with the sweet little old residents of the long-term care side of the hospital and knew that the job I wanted when I got home was the one that was going to allow me to serve and build relationships with my patients and that learning the stories of people I took care of was the fastest way to forget all of my troubles, financial or otherwise.  

Back to spray tans and Spanx.  Dude, it’s fine if that’s the kick in the pants you need to start taking care of yourself.  But until you start working for those parts that you feel make up your best self, they will never manifest.  Faith without works is dead.  But at the same time, in the words of a homeless man walking the streets of Hollywood in the movie Pretty Woman… “Welcome to Hollywood! What’s your dream? Everybody comes here; this is Hollywood, land of dreams. Some dreams come true, some don’t; but keep on dreamin’.”  You gotta start with a dream, a goal, a change you want to manifest. You gotta visualize it, get excited about it, call on the universe to bring it to you.  Then you gotta get up and do something about it.  The dreams that come true are the ones you work for, pray for, fight for endlessly.  The ones that don’t are the ones that stay just that…a dream. 

I’m the last person to be giving advice on changing your life or chasing dreams.  I’m the epitome of what not to do in life.  But I’ve experienced mighty miracles in my life recently – over and over – at a time when I should have been the most down.  I’ve learned and I’ve grown and I’ve quieted my soul by identifying a dream, visualizing it, tasting it, feeling it, and then taking the tiniest of steps in the direction of obtaining it.  Am I anywhere close to being where I want to be?  Laugh out loud…NO.  But there is no denying that progress is being made and unimaginable dreams are forming in my head.  It’s not overnight.  Hell, it’s not overyear.  (Yes, made up that word, don’t bother trying to edit it, mom.) It’s one spray tan at a time and dude…it’s totally fine.

On December 29, 2017, I was laying on a beach in Hawaii, having been there just under two weeks at that point, celebrating my 41st birthday solo.  That day I wrote this note to myself:

41st birthday.

“Dear 41,

Thanks for finally getting here.  40 was kind of a drag, so your arrival has been highly anticipated. But you best be resting up, sister.  The ride will be wild and we’re not talking about spiraling-down-to-the-depths-of-despair-like-that-old-hag-40 kinda wild. It’s going to be the best year yet and there ain’t no time for moping and moseying along.  You’ve got big things ahead of you, 41.  Your whole focus is a’changing.  No more of those wimpy, whiney, fear-based goals like getting out of bed in the morning or showering at least once a week.  This year you’re dreaming big and going for the gusto.  You’re gonna write that book, lose that weight, release that lantern during the Chinese New Year in Thailand.  You’re going to be exhaustingly jam-packed with DOING. And you’ll be equally busy with all the things you’re gonna give up, too.  You’re going to let go of hurt and anger and resentment.  You’re going to stop trying to control the things you never should’ve been fighting to control in the first place and you’re going to be open to all the wonderful experiences that come your way.  This year, your tears of joy will outweigh your tears of sadness 10 oceans to 1.  You will forsake being numb in order to embrace all the feels.  You will rip-roar through this year with such an enormous appetite for LIVING, that before you know it, 42 will be here and no one will even be giving lame old 40 another thought.  You’re lucky, 41.  You’re getting your start in paradise…jaw-dropping, soul-soothing, heart-healing paradise.  You’re blessed beyond measure and it’s a gift that ought not be squandered.  So yeah, thanks for finally getting here, sis.  Buckle up and let the ride begin.

Love,

Me”

That was the beginning of the dream and it felt about as attainable as flying to the moon the day I wrote it.  Oh, I wanted everything I wrote.  But I was still fighting back tears of heartache, doubt and worry the entire time I typed it out.  It was simply my first little knock on the universe’s door, pimping out my Girl Scout Cookies.  It was a lot of bark and not a whole lot of bite.  As I sit here editing this chapter, it’s February 10, 2020 - the day that would have been my 24th wedding anniversary. I’ve not only hit 42, I’ve steadily passed up 43 and I wasn’t able to collect all those promises.  I’m not saying I’m ever going to accomplish everything on that list, but I’m not saying I’m NOT going to, either.  Rereading that today, I’m astonished at what I can check off so far.  So maybe Thailand won’t happen just yet…(dang debt).  But I’m writing the book, my goals have gusto, I’ve let go of soooo much of what was holding me back.  I took a dream, I visualized it, I wrote it down and put it on Instagram for the entire world and universe to see – and hold me accountable for. 

Whatever you’re doing RIGHT now, stop and think for a second.  Is it what you thought you’d be doing at this point in your life?  Are you happy? Are you excited? Are you rip-roaring through life as you chase your dreams? If you are…dude…you are AWESOME.  If you aren’t, now is a great time to start.  Buy the spray tan, write the business plan, start the first chapter.  Decide to shower daily instead of once a week.  Whatever it is, it’s something and dude…it’s fine.  Because a year from now, when you look back, it’s going to BLOW. YOUR. MIND.  And when you get to throw away those Spanx because you don’t need them anymore, it’s gonna feel so damn good.  That is a promise.  (To you, and to me.) 

In the meantime, if you gotta rock the Spanx, dude…it’s fine.

XOXO,

Ames