Today, for the first time since I published Ravenous, I miss writing. Really miss it. I still write, of course, like the magazine piece I just wrote for the October issue of Yoga Journal on yoga-friendly restaurants.

I had fun writing this piece. I mean, I got to eat my way from SF to NY and write about it! But I’m finding myself hungry for more. Like writing another book. Or working towards performing again. Because ultimately, when I create, I meet myself anew. I learn something more about who I am, and how I make my way through this complicated beautiful world, and that is powerful.

I’ve been thinking about what it means to be contented with oneself. I was recently sitting by a pool with some members of my extended family. One of them was describing her friend and said, “she’s a large woman, probably a size 12.” It was all I could do to remain civil. As I wrote about in my book, I worked hard to lose weight, mostly because I’m a lot healthier for it. I lost 25 pounds and have kept it off for two years. You bet I’m proud. But as I’ve learned, being thin and being at home in your body are two very different things.

I looked at this person and said, “you know, I wear a size 14. And I feel beautiful and strong.” She looked at me suspiciously, as if perhaps I was lying to make myself feel better. I wasn’t.

This culture has so much riding on our unhappiness. Why? Because we spend more money if we’re not happy, trying to buy the props that will make us feel better.

After our conversation, I stood up, and, leaving my sarong on the chair, walked slowly into the pool.