Yesterday, I caught an hour or so of the broadcast of the "Tour de France." I'm not at all a fan of bicycling, but I do love to see imagery of the French countryside, which I visited as a very young 15-year-old. However, this particular day, the cyclists were going through the Alps.
Only a year ago, there would have been a running commentary going through my head watching the panoramic shots of these majestic mountains: "The only landscape that appeals to me is in England. I don't like this landscape." "I don't like the color palette of this landscape. It isn't green enough." "I prefer rolling hills, or flat landscapes." "I don't like mountains; they make me claustrophobic." "Mountains scare me." "Those mountains remind me (or don't remind me) of the Adirondacks or the Rockies in Montana." "I wish I were somewhere I love, but not the Alps." Words to that effect. Seriously.
Yesterday? "Wow, isn't that beautiful!" Truly. That's all I thought.
For once, I didn't compare. I didn't judge. I didn't wish for something different. I just saw beauty. For a moment just now, I almost judged myself quite harshly for who I was before now, but I'm not going to do that either. I am a woman on her path, taking a small step forward. C'est tout.
