I put the bathroom scale in my bedroom closet–for now–as part of my Zen practice, which probably sounds like escape, and it might be, but as the Buddha taught, the practice is to live “not too tight and not too loose.”
I’m familiar with life in the closet as a lesbian, a chronically ill adult, and now, as an old woman. Life in the closet is when labels become larger than life itself. I think that is the weight of the world, expanding and retracting to the size of the labels we wear.
So, my scale is in the closet, not out of sight and out of mind but just the opposite. I’m expanding my life lens, leaving the tunnel vision of a single number as the definition of my daily life, which is not to say that number does not have significance, it does, but no one label is large enough.
I’ve talked with my physicians about my weight. It is not the label they see. This is a bit of role reversal, their wholistic view of me versus my tunnel vision of 5 to 8 pounds for which I cannot account.
It’s not as if I fit their BMI index, I don’t and doubt I ever will, but I have maintained a 60+ pound weight loss for 6.5 years. None of my physicians knew me then. I guess they take my word for it.
Every time I put a piece of food in my mouth my brain tells me whether it is a carb, fat, or, protein, its caloric count, and how it is (or isn’t) providing for my nutrient needs. I have done a lot of work in these last eight years; in my accounting, I am meticulous.
And change happens anyway. No one way works forever.
For a while, my weight was merely the number I read every morning, one of health, not loss or gain. At some point, I lost perspective in favor of a solitary figure.
I put too much stock in my accounting and not enough in the weight of the world, its impact immeasurable. It won’t fit on a spreadsheet, either.
For now, my scale is in the closet, both named and nameless, kind of like the Tao: “as nameless it is the origin of all things; as named it is the Mother of 10,000 things” (Tao).