Recently a friend of mine lost a dramatic amount of weight very suddenly. Discovering that her jeans no longer fit her, she asked me to go shopping with her to help her find some new clothes. She has no idea the challenge that I am doing, and if she does it's just a small idea, not the whole picture. So, being a good friend I agreed to go along. Even though, in general, I hate shopping.
While I strolled the store my eyes locked on a shirt. A peasant top, ivory in color, with tiny eyelet designs on it. I decided to try it on.
It fit perfectly. Better than that, though, it is my dream shirt. For years I have looked for the perfect peasant top. I'm not even kidding you. I never, ever wear white or ivory tops, but in my dream wish...this peasant top would be ivory. [cue the dreamlike sigh as I look up at the sky]
And now, when I cannot buy it, it falls right smack dap into my lap. The shirt I invented only in my dreams actually exists; and it fits perfectly.
Really?
While helping my friend stock up on new clothes I was having the clash of the Titans inside my head. A battle of will and logic. I could easily convince myself, before my own jury, of the reasons why I should buy this top. I even could con myself into validly excusing away my own self-imposed limits on things.
In the end, I walked away. My friend never knew the battle that waged inside of me as I left a top I've wanted for years. Perhaps no one would ever understand the sacrifice it was for me to pass up spending money on a silly top. But for me, it was a victory. I may never see a top like that again. But I have to trust that this process is for a purpose. A good one. And not just to torture me.
