Last year I was more than 20 pounds lighter. And then, life happened. At least, that’s my excuse. I’m a stress eater, and I know that. But does that knowledge stop me? No. It’s as if I’m convinced that I’ll never lose weight and keep it off, so I just don’t bother. I do have will power. Sometimes. But when my mind decides it wants comfort, I head for potato chips. Or if I’m out for dinner, I believe I deserve dessert, because there were so many years when I was a child that we couldn’t afford such a luxury. The brain doesn’t really help in these matters. I need to learn that *I* have the personal luxury of deciding what I eat and what I don’t, and that *I* have the luxury of improving my health.
I look up to people who clearly know their motivation, and their path. It would be so nice to start the day with purpose. Instead, each day starts in a fog. What should I do? What do I feel like doing? (Usually nothing.) I may have grandiose plans. Even great intentions. But I am hugely lacking in follow-through. If only there were a magic fix.
I feel purposeful when I have a distinct goal in mind. Typically, this involves a plan to donate pet beds/blankets to some specific group by a specific date. It’s when I don’t have a goal, or a deadline, or I’m surrounded by stuff, that I become aimless, and lose motivation.
I’m worried that I will lose my momentum. In fact, I worry about this all the time.
Mind you, perhaps I should try to gain some before I worry about losing it.
When I want to relax I start working on a jigsaw puzzle. There is something so satisfying about watching a picture come together. This is especially true when you don’t know what it will be in advance. When I am finished, I can look at what I have completed, and then move on to something else. I don’t need to keep what I have finished, but there is still a sense of accomplishment that lingers from such a simple pastime.
If I were taller maybe I’d be thinner. Or not.
You see, I have very long arms. And very long legs. But I have a short torso. Now, if I had grown taller, perhaps the torso would have thinned out, and I would be a gorgeous amazon.
On the other hand, I don’t see much point in causing people to stare. I’d rather be known for my intellect, and my kind and compassionate demeanor.
Did I mention I have deep blue hair?
Sometimes I like to dream about what live would be like in a few years. I see myself as a musician, confidently playing guitar and singing in front of an audience. Or I see quilts that I have pieced and quilted. I see a perfect garden in our yard. Or I see a lovely meal that I have prepared.
The problem with this dreaming is that I don’t seem to plan accordingly. So I always think how wonderful it would be, but I don’t make any plans to bring it about.
Dreaming is fine. But there has to be both intent, and action, to bring results. I’m working on both.