I have worried about my weight since I was 13 years old and weighed 117 pounds. All my girlfriends felt, as I did, that we should lose weight. I was thin. I did not understand that. I still receive the message that I should lose weight. More often I am told I should not worry about my weight.

I should smile more.

I should not make a fuss.

I should get more rest.

I should see my doctor about that.

I should trust the process to play out.

I should say less, not everything I know.

I should not let things bother me.

I should not allow unkind people to get under my skin.

Unkind people bother me. This is especially true when I am afraid the unkind person is me.

I should wear colors.

I should dye my hair.

I should put on some lipstick.

I should not take things too seriously.

I should not care about people I do not even know.

I should use the trash I find on the beach to make art.

I should read this book, or another book, or watch a video, or attend this event.

I should stay safe.

I should. I should. I should.

It was my mother who was forever after me to put on lipstick. The “you-shoulds” began early in my life and they never seem to stop. My husband and I pick up trash on the beach most mornings. Most people ignore us. None offer to help. Instead they describe seeing “art” made from beach trash. “You should see what this guy made with beach litter!” They think I should do that.

There are times when I feel completely at a loss for what I should do. Should I revise this manuscript again? Should I do more research about that one? Should I abandon the goal of publication and save myself enormous disappointment? Should I?  Should I finish the warp on my loom and warp a new one? Will I ever reread most of my books? Should I let most of those books go?

Should I sell my family home and move someplace safer? Where is that safety?

These days I find I appreciate the marvelous diversity of lives. The couple who work and perhaps raise a family, perhaps pay off a mortgage, take a vacation to Hawaii just once, and slip silently into death without making leaving behind much more than a few fond memories. Should they have done something differently? The couple who spent their lives striving toward wealth and then discover late on that it doesn’t make their lives meaningful, or perhaps they fail to achieve that understanding. Have they wasted talent? The couple who sacrifice and demand sacrifice from others in pursuit of artistic, cultural, social, or personal goals. Was their sacrifice worthwhile? Was the sacrifice of others worthwhile? Which couple would I rather have for parents?

For more than two weeks I was ill. I am only just now feeling healthy. I coughed a bit last night and woke, but no meds, no coughing today so far, no body aches, no fever is a week. I missed my beach walks, I stayed in the house most days. I could not read for more than a few minutes at a time. I could write only in tiny fits and starts. I ate most of two bags of honey-dijon chips—not the individual serving size. I deliberately forced myself to eat three full meals a day but managed to lose two pounds during the week. I responded promptly to student emails, but I have not been able to score their essays—the necessary sustained energy is still beyond me.

My sense of obligation never entirely leaves me. I know plenty of people, even many teachers, who are able to turn off their concern long enough to get healthy. I wish I could. I should be able to do that. But like a lot of other “shoulds” I can not turn them off.

I should score my students’ papers by Wednesday.

I should eat healthy and not worry.

I should get off my computer.

I am 66, walk most every day, and today I weigh 145 pounds.

I should lose weight.