As long as I can remember, I’ve always thought of myself as “big”. By the time I was 10 or 11 years old, I’d already hit my adult height of 5’4”, which felt so much taller than my peers. I hated being tall – taller than my friends, taller than the boys. As we all know, standing out in any way, particularly when we’re young, feels scary and alienating. I was never teased about my height, but it bothered me. It didn’t help that I was also fat, of course. I was big times two. As an adult, my height is actually on the lower end of average for a woman, so I’m no longer considered tall and haven’t been for most of my life. I still feel big though, because of my body type. The truth is I love the idea of being small. Little. Tiny. Any time I feel that way, I feel happy, delicate, feminine…I hate to say it, but probably more beautiful too. I think what I feel most is precious. Not precious as in pretentious, but precious as in valuable. Because I was bigger than most kids, I was never described as cute, adorable, precious. I wanted to be precious.
When I found this oversized Adirondack chair at Safeway…..well, I think you know why I hopped right in.