Page 17 of Sunny Side Up

SUNNY SIDE UP

SUNNY SIDE UP EGGS IN THE HOUSEEEEE. JK, JK that was a joke.

We’ve officially made it to my fifth new post of the year, which feels like cause for celebration. Thank you for coming back, and to everyone new, thank you for sticking with me this far. I’m honored. And floored, honestly.

Except right now, I’M FLYING HIGH. I’m writing to you from an airplane, which is hands down my least favorite way to travel.

Unless you can afford or have enough points for first class every single time you fly, it’s like being stuck in a claustrophobic piece of machinery hurtling at the speed of light through the sky.

For most of my life, I could never sleep the night before I was set to fly.

I worried about my arms and thighs spilling over into the other seat, I worried about needing a seat belt extender, I worried about asking for a seat belt extender.

I wondered if the guy sitting next to me would give me dirty looks the whole time.

Fear of flying while fat would fill my dreams; I’d wake up in the middle of the night screaming.

Okay fine, maybe I’m exaggerating, but the point is: The stress would come, and it would taunt me.

The cramped plane seats? That tiny airplane bathroom?

In my size?! I’m tall, too, people! Horror. Story. Material.

But this time, because of you guys, actually, and our collective voyage to becoming our most proactive, take-charge-of-the-things-we-deserve-TODAY selves, I decided to do things differently. Ready?

I researched size-friendlier airlines. Certain airlines (all linked here) have a policy where they will actually give you an extra seat, FOR FREE, if you meet the size and/or height requirements. I repeat: FOR FREE. Airlines are making so much money anyway. Take advantage of this.

I’ve started meditating. I know, eye roll.

Getting on an airplane can be anxiety-inducing for a million reasons, but one of the biggest ones I have found is feeling like I might be an inconvenience for the person sitting next to me because I’m so…

you guessed it… big! So rather than enter the plane in a heightened state of anxiety, as was my norm, I dedicated five minutes before my flight to a meditation.

I wore noise-canceling headphones and played a meditation from this free app, linked.

I sucked up my pride and just asked the flight attendant for a seat belt extender right away.

No hemming and hawing and dreading the inevitable.

I am a person, not an imposition, I reminded myself.

My size—and needing a seat belt extender because of my size—is not my “fault.” It’s a safety issue.

I also reminded myself that the flight attendants don’t want me flying out of my seat during turbulence, either. Same team.

I dressed for ~*ThE JoUrnEy*~, not the destination: I get overeager and tend to dress to whatever climate I’m flying to, then regret it on the plane. So this time I listened to my mom and wore layers. A revelation, I know! Photos are below; all my outfits are linked.

As for the destination: That’s what your carry-on is for. I’m a chronic overpacker, but packing cubes have saved me. Linked here.

Speaking of the journey: Thank you so much for being there through the first month of my dating mania.

Your words of encouragement in the comments have made me laugh, smile, and feel like a braver version of myself.

I said this in my last post about the Poster Boy of Douchelords (linked if you’re not caught up), but this whole process has reminded me to accept nothing less than respect—from others, and from myself.

Here’s what I’ve been repeating in front of the mirror, which is even cringier than meditating in the JFK Delta lounge, but it works:

Your body is not the problem. You are worthy of everything you desire (weird sex, true love, a hobby, a raise, a nap, whatever) EXACTLY as you are today. There’s no need for some magic movie montage makeover. And finally, you are a whole person on your own, as is. Don’t forget that.

No newsletter next week, since I’ll be on vacation with two of my newest yet dearest friends.

Speaking of: Has anyone else had a hard time making new, true friends as an adult?

? Like real ride-or-die friends. Is that a global phenomenon, or a bad-marriage thing, or was it just a me thing?

Let me know in the comments if you want me to wax on and on and on about this in an upcoming newsletter.

Love,

Sunny