Oh! Oh! Oh! I’m in love with myself. And I think it’s interesting that such a proclamation is interpreted as narcissistic. Overflowing with joy about every second of my day, of my night, of my existence, I know that it’s because I’m in love. At long last!

I’ve always loved my intentions. Spirit. Determination. Gumption. Dedication. Passion. Loyalty. Honesty. What have you. But I never loved my body because I knew it wasn’t where it could be, that it had yet to achieve its greatest potential. If only I could attain the state of being so very perfect in my eating and exercising behaviors, then my outer shell, would respond. I had an argument with my father during Christmas. He commented on a woman’s body, stating that she had gained weight. It offended me because nobody has the right to criticise another human for living. So I replied, “She just needs to exercise and clean-up her eating. She has the resources. It can be done.” He argued that perhaps she had fat genes or a bad thyroid. He argued that it’s impossible for certain people to be thin. I think all of that is rubbish. It can all be managed. The body and its aesthetic is simply a scientific formula. It’s math. There are no excuses.

So back to this love fest on myself. Take everything that I listed above: philosophy + body and now add oxygen, because I’m now, for the first time ever, breathing in my yoga practice, and I’m totally in love!

I’m not a middle girl. Looking aesthetically “normal” is not good enough for me. I want to be the leanest that I can be, in a healthy way that supports a highly functioning body. This philosophy aligns completely with that of two of my divine heroes (I have 5 heroes at this time). The first, Gary Vaynerchuck!!

In his new freaking fantastic book, #AskGaryVee: One Entrepreneur’s Take on Leadership, Social Media & Self-Awareness, he writes,

To be in the middle is to be like everybody else. It’s a start-up that pitches me by saying: “We’re going to do something in the photo app space.” You mean like everybody has been doing for the past five years? It’s commodity work. It’s not influential and it’s not special. It’s safe.”

He continues,

You’re surrounded by the middle for 99.9 percent of your life. Most things are unremarkable. I want you to lose yourself in the clouds and dirt and figure out what you can make that changes the game.

Vagueness sucks. Lack of drive sucks. Half-assing things sucks. And so does the middle.

Totally completely mother fucking fabulous. One of my other divine heroes, Ms. Ayn Rand wrote, in her glamorous John Galt radio speech,

There are two sides to every issue: one side is right and the other is wrong, but the middle is always evil. The man who is wrong still retains some respect for truth, if only by accepting the responsibility of choice. But the man in the middle is the knave who blanks out the truth in order to pretend that no choice or values exist, who is willing to sit out the course of any battle, willing to cash in on the blood of the innocent or to crawl on his belly to the guilty, who dispenses justice by condemning both the robber and the robbed to jail, who solves conflicts by ordering the thinker and the fool to meet each other halfway. In any compromise between food and poison, it is only death that can win. In any compromise between good and evil, it is only evil that can profit. In that transfusion of blood which drains the good to feed the evil, the compromiser is the transmitting rubber tube.

When men reduce their virtues to the approximate, then evil acquires the force of an absolute, when loyalty to an unyielding purpose is dropped by the virtuous, it’s picked up by scoundrels—and you get the indecent spectacle of a cringing, bargaining, traitorous good and a self-righteously uncompromising evil.

She also wrote on love,

Romantic love, in the full sense of the term, is an emotion possible only to the man (or woman) of unbreached self-esteem: it is his response to his own highest values in the person of another—an integrated response of mind and body, of love and sexual desire. Such a man (or woman) is incapable of experiencing a sexual desire divorced from spiritual values.

This is why, if I am ever to have a mate, he must be exactly like I am. Does he exist? Maybe. But I will not compromise who I am for the sake of having a partner in life.

So what the hell is the point of my post?


A few days ago, someone left a comment at this blog, and it reads like so:

Oh Nicole you are so enamored with your sick, disordered self.

To formally respond, yes, I am. I watched a film starring Bradley Cooper recently. AMAZING film. Burnt. 2015. Cooper plays a top level chef gone fucked up, gone fixed, and gone ready to start the most amazing restaurant in the world! When discussing his new clean life with a former friend and now competition, he stated, “I’ve been sober 2 years, 2 weeks, and 6 days.” The friend replied,

“Please don’t think I’m impressed with the water. You’re an addict. You’re addicted to the way you feel every second of the day.”

This describes ME. Perfectly. I’m addicted to the way that I feel, every second of the day. How can anyone want something different?

That is all!


Are you addicted to the way that you feel, and if not, what are you doing to fix it?