Inside my breakfast pear, I found a happy person. Under the layers of peel and pear, I discovered a delightful gift.
My own body is such a gift. I sometimes forget that. I bury it under layers of self-criticism. I cover myself with a skin of derision, thinking maybe, it’s better if I point out my own flaws than have the world do it for me. With this burden, I look in a mirror and can see only imperfections. With this harshness, I cannot accept a compliment with joy.
Taking my own body down with insults is harmful to my well-being. Speaking harshly about my own hair, skin, or internal workings blackens my day. How can my body be its best without my love?
But when I let these layers go, and accept the natural characteristics of aging, illness, injury—of living—I see my body for what it truly is: a beautiful gift that allows me to express goodness and beauty in this world. How can I not love such a gift?
As I love my body, I see miracles. I see the miracles of every system, cell, and space in my body. I see the daily miracles of renewal and healing. I release goals derived from dissatisfaction, and instead, with an attitude of tenderness and attentiveness, I listen to my body, and lovingly provide what it needs.
My body is a gift. Today I accept this gift with gratitude.