body Apr 25, 2019

It is the eve of my forty-fifth birthday. I stand in front of a full length mirror readying myself for the party. I dissect my body: the lines on my face, my sagging jowl, the pecs and arms that are too small, the dreaded bit of extra weight around my waist, the legs I actually like, and even my odd shaped feet. I’ve done this thousands of times. Being a meditation, yoga, and creativity teacher I know this body is the shell for my soul, but my mind still plays tricks on me.

At eight years old my mother began calling me “Nicky Picky” because I was “skinny as a tooth pick.” As a young gay child this was humiliating and I feared it to be unmanly. In my teens I worried incessantly that I was too skinny; It seemed wimpy. When I reached college a gay professor poked my belly and told me I needed to stop eating. He didn’t want to see the ‘freshman fifteen’ on me. Then I moved to New York City and began the illusive search for...

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