The quest for happy imperfection…

So last night was a massacre. I lined up all the little Russian Tea Cookies and ate them one by one. It was awful. But, oh, it tasted so good.  This was, of course, after a day that already included several cookies, and two burritos made with the fatty beef. Eww. Needless to say, I was happy to see only a half pound gain after all of my recent debauchery.

Today wasn’t horrific, but it certainly wasn’t great. Once again, those dastardly little tea cakes have foiled my plans. But, I made a sacrifice, and ate all of the ones I had left, to maybe help save myself from the same powdered sugar coated fate that I’ve fallen victim to the last two days. (Yeah, that was seriously my reasoning. I think I need a head-check)I was good about lunch, with a nice little sandwich and a 100 calorie pack of Doritos. Unfortunately, I haven’t been in the modd for breakfast for the past couple days, which is becoming a big problem. I choked down some oatmeal this morning, but I really wasn’t happy about it. I’ve also been kind of apathetic about snacks and food in general. It seems that the only thing I’m interested in eating is something covered in cheese or deep fried. No, no, no food cravings. You will not bring me down to the pits of saturated fat hell. So I somehow have to pull through this whole thing and convince my body that it would rather crave carrots than cookies. Hmm.

 Maybe it’s all related to the weather. It’s currently snowing, blustery, and very cold. I think that, subconsciously, my body is trying to eat fatty foods in an attempt to convert it to fatty insulation. I don’t have the heart to tell my body that, if the amount of “insulation” I’m currently carrying can’t keep me warm, no amount of fries dipped in ranch will be able to change anything. Except make me fatter, but still cold. Sigh.

 I haven’t taken to the trampoline since I established dominance. I wanted to give it time to lick its wounds. Okay, maybe I’m still sore from shopping/fake boxing on Wii and I’m afraid that it will recognize my moment of weakness and capitalize on it. And, I’m damn tired. Which is funny, because I’m sleeping more than I used to. Maybe there’s something to the whole biodiesel thing. You know how they use old like french fry oil and crap like that to make diesel. I think my body was doing the same thing. Now I’m converting to a hybrid.

Okay, so some people go out and paint the town red. I went out and painted the town “food”. It seems as if my “let it all hang out” attitude caused me to, well, let it all hnag out. A little too far.

I went to Virginia City on Saturday, which is a pretty cool place. It’s like you drive out to the middle of nowhere, go another 20 minutes, and you’re there! I started off my mornign right (not) with a McDonald’s McNasty meal. But I told myself not to sweat it, I’d make the rest of my day better. Hahahahaha. When we rolled into VC we stopped at the Bucket of Blood saloon. Apparently they’re famous for their bloody marys, to which I say EEW. I’m sorry, I just don’t think I could physically consume enough alcohol to make me think that mixing vegetables and booze is a good idea. So, I had a screwdriver. Which was pretty good. And then an Italian wedding cookie that the bartender gave us. Also good, though a bit weird. We spent the morning walking around  in the various shops with weird antiques and stopped into another saloon for lunch. Once again, I told myself I’d be good… well apparently I fall for my own lies every time. We started off with some fried mozzarella sticks (if I ever find out who invented those things… I don’t know whether I’d propose marriage or kick them over my extreme love of fried cheese) and followed those with a bacon swiss chicken sandwich with french fries. At the time I told myself it was better than a cheeseburger. Oh the webs we weave. But, all was not lost. We went into not one, but two, fudge shops. I only bought 3 individual servings of various chocolates. So far I’ve only eaten half of one.  Unfortunately, one small act of restraint can’t make up for a day full of poor choices.

Luckily, we were shopping for most of the day, so I did get some exercise in. And hey, Walmart 2 weeks before Christmas, I should get some sort of extra brownie points. It was crazy. My friend bought the last bag of flour, and you saw all the angry soccer moms eyeing it in her cart. I did finish almost all of my Christmas shopping though, which is pretty awesome. I must admit, the fact that I was sore the next day, from shopping, has revealed my true status of nonfitness, despite my recent trampoline attempts.

 Unfortunately, Sunday didn’t get much better. I was running late in the morning and grabbed a bacon, egg and cheese panini on sourdough from Raley’s. I headed off to a baby shower, which was like an alternate universe for me. All the other women there had more kids than I have facial expressions, and, let me tell you, I saw more breasts in two hours than are probably featured in most pornographic films. (Granted, most pornos don’t include babies attached to said breasts, but still) Now, I’m not one of those people that sees anything wrong with the above proceedings, but it was still quite a shock to my normally-isolated-from-children sensibilities. However, the food was great. There was a nice half sandwich with ciabatta, fresh basil, turkey, and fresh mozzarella with a nice veggie chocked salad and the best chicken and barley soup I’ve ever tasted. Unfortunately, the cake was not quite so healthy. Though, very tasty.  One would think that “oh, it’s just one piece of cake, it’s not that bad.”

Oh but I’m not done yet! I left the baby shower and heades straight to a cookie baking party. Yes, you heard that correctly, a cookie baking party. I have apparently lost my marbles. I was reasonably well behaved at the cookie baking party, I only ate four cookies and the dough equivalent of probably another three. The whole thing was then topped off with two pieces of combo pizza.

But, then cookie baking was finished and we moved on to exercise. We played  a couple games of tennis, a short baseball game, boxed for a little bit, and then topped the whole thing off with some golf. Too bad it was all on Wii. But, even then, it was a lot of fun. And I woke up sore. Which means that the whole business was actually a fun workout, or I’m ridiculously out of shape. I’m sure we can all figure out which option I’d like to believe. But, considering I wasn’t the only one sore today, it can’t be too bad of a workout. Which got me thinking that I should get a Wii, and use it while I’m on my mini trampoline. Absolute insanity. As long as I don’t knock myself out with my controller, or fall off and accidentally strangle myself with the cord, I’ll probably get into decent shape. Must research this possibility. And for my own safety, invest in a helmet, and maybe a bubble suit (unfortunately, my built in bubble suit doesn’t protect my knees, elbows, or other bony areas of my body prone to skinning and bruising. Luckily, there aren’t too many parts of my body that can be considered bony)

So, overall, my weekend wasn’t great. But, all things considered, it could be worse. Atleast I didn’t roll around in the vat of fudge like I wanted to. And, tomorrow is a new day.

I’m tired. And cranky. And dying to shove my mouth full of every kind of junk food imaginable. But, so far, I’m resisting. Kind of. I downed two Hersheys kisses this morning. And took out a sugar cookie this afternoon. Those little kisses tempted me, cried out to me from their little basket on my coworker’s desk. That cookie taunted me until I caved. Really, they did! Okay, maybe not. The sad thing is that, once again, I’m not sure that I wanted wanted them. Though that cookie was REALLY good. So I’ll give it atleast one and a half wanteds. Instead, I fell victim to the “it’s there, so I should eat it” mentality. Which is really one of the worst mentalities there is. “What happened to the dozen doughnuts that were here?” “They were here, so I ate them” “And the danishes?” “Also here” “And the table they were sitting on?” “Yep. That too.” It just doesn’t make any logical sense. Then again, I don’t think there is such thing as logic when chocolate is involved. I am proud of myself that I ate a good lunch though- leftover stir-fry and a baked potato. Have I ever mentioned how much I love baked potatoes?

See, I guess here’s where some of my back story comes in. I was the fat kid. Not just a fat kid, but the one fat kid that every kid made fun of. The sounds of fake thunderthigh noises still haunt me. Except that, I played sports, I ate right, but I was the fat kid. Doctor kept telling my mom I’d grow into it. (How do you grow into being fat? Like it’s somehow going to suit you at some point? Don’t you just grow into being more fat?) But, sure enough, summer in between 6th and 7th grade, I grew into it- I grew six inches over the course of a summer. Oops! Even then I wasn’t skinny, but I was fit. And because of that, I grew into a pretty healthy mentality. When other girls were thinking of themselves as fat or skinny, I was thinking of how I could outsprint almost every girl in my soccer league. When I hit highschool, I got into weight lifting and turned into a gym rat. My body was not an object of desire, or a sex symbol. It was a finely tuned machine that could snowboard, stop almost any shot, and leg press with the best of them. (What I wouldn’t give for that now!) Things chugged along swimmingly until my second year of college. I slipped and fell on my back. (I wish I could say it was doing something cool. But no. I was taken out by a ketchup spill on slick tile. How lame is that? Gotta think of a better story than that…)Now, I’d injured my back several times before, but this one was a doozy. Gym time disappeared when I couldn’t get off the couch for two weeks. When I could finally get off the couch, I could hardly move. Luckily flipflops were in style ’cause Lord knows I wasn’t tying my shoes. Needless to say, this whole thing packed on a few pounds. But, it damaged a lot more than my waist line. See, it’s easy to get your self esteem from how strong your body is, when your body is strong. When you can’t pick your feet up off the ground, much less any sort of weight, it’s a lot harder. And that’s when I turned to pretty. My self esteem started coming from my looks, and not my strength (Can’t do that now!). So, my senior year in college, I decided that the whole weight thing was getting in the way of pretty. So I started the SouthBeach diet. I went from 165 in November to 148 in May. And that’s the lowest I’ve been since. See, SB and I don’t really work out well. I’m part Irish, which means I love potatoes, part Italian, so I’m genetically engineered to like pasta, part French, so I love pastry, part English.. wait. British food is gross. But you get my drift here. It wasn’t that low carb food was awful. I just couldn’t live that way. I mean, they wanted me to blend cauliflower and half and half and pretend it was mashed potatoes. That, dear friends, is wrong. Sick and wrong. And that’s what sent me jumping off the wagon.

Now I know I’m not sitting in XL sweatpants because of potatoes. I’m sitting here 5 sizes bigger and 50 pounds heavier because I’m lazy, and because it never occurred to me to find an eating style that suited me. *Cue inspirational music* Until now. So, yes, I had a cookie. That’s cool. I had ONE. (Despite the overwhelming desire to throw myself on the pile with reckless abandon and eat until I passed out) I also had a baked potato. Because carbs are not the devil. They’re my friends. My peeps. My homies. And more importantly, they’re delicious. So I’m taking it easy, knowing that I’m going to have to keep up with this for life.

But, there’s good news. So far the scale approves. I started off on Sunday at 194. The scale is currently 191.5. Woohoo! Excuse me while I happy dance. Now, I know, it’s water weight. But, I like my bubble just the way it is, no bursting required. Besides, after a steady weight gain, I’ll take any weight loss- water or not!

So today sucked. I spent the first part of my day in a meeting that left me feeling exhausted. By the time it was done with, I felt like I had just run a marathon, and my reward at the end was a brick. In the face. Like “Congratulations, you’ve just run almost 30 miles for no apparent reason and as a reward BAM! here’s your commemorative brick.” Which, as a side note, I’m quasi-fascinated and yet terrified by marathon runners. 26.2 miles? And you weren’t being chased by something with big teeth? Interesting. I’m not entirely sure if I admire them, or think they’re nuts. Probably a combo of both.

But after my meeting with the amazing energy suckers from Zoltron, I went back to the office and ended up going to lunch with my coworkers. Unfortunately, I really wasn’t hungry for breakfast, and trying to force yourself to eat pumpkin oatmeal isn’t a good idea. And so, unfortunately, I broke one of the cardinal rules and didn’t eat breakfast. I know. Twenty lashes for me. So we go out to eat at an awesome little cafe kind of place where you can build your own salads and they make it for you. I almost got myself to do it. Almost. But, I was realistic. I knew that I would still be hungry an hour later. See, my stomach is totally anti-salad. No matter how good it is, or how much protein is on it, I just can’t eat a salad for a meal. My stomach attempts a coup everytime. So I went for a grilled ham and cheese to satisfy the masses (or should I just say “the mass” being as I am a singular object?) Should have had soup as a side instead of fries, but lentil soup just sounded lenasty today. But, I passed on the cheeseburger with bacon, so I did make some progress. And, I ate my side salad. Even though it had sprouts, tomato, and mushrooms. (Fungus? Really? Aren’t we a little high on the food chain to be eating fungus?)

 I was still in a bit of a funk when I got home, so I decided to call a friend instead of eating myself sick. Progress. We ended up going out for dessert. Well, not so much progress. She’d already eaten dinner and so wasn’t really up for eating a second one. (Probably a good thing. If it had been a week ago, and our roles had been reversed, I probably would have just gone for it. No bueno.) But, I was good, and whipped up a quick light stir fry before I went. We got there, ordered two desserts, and went to town.  Despite the inner voices yelling “feed the void” (void? what void? you fill out my pants without room for any voids!) I put my spoon down before I wanted to vomit. (Imagine that. Self control? It was like seeing the Lochness monster! People say it exists, but has anyone other than the National Enquirer ever seen it?) In fact, I probably ate about 4 bites of each and was good.

Then things went downhill. We decided to see a movie. And you know what happens at movie theaters… popcorn. Lots of it. My kryptonite. There was no resisting. Popcorn was purchased, and subsequently covered in butter.  Somehow I thought it was a good idea to buy the large. Maybe it’s because when I picture a large, I’m thinking some sort of reasonably sized paper bag type situation. Imagine my shock when the girl shoves a kiddie pool full of popcorn at me. Huh? No wonder America is getting fat! Even I think that portion’s out of control! So I load it up in my complimentary Uhaul and watch my movie. Between the two of us, we had enough popcorn to feed the former soviet union. It’s a good thing we were the only people in that theatre, I don’t know that anyonelse would have been able to see around that thing.  When all was said and done, I probably ate about 2 cups.  Which, calorie laden? Yep! Delicious? You bet. Resttraint? Oh yeah.

I briefly considering partaking in some act of penance for my buttery transgressions. But you know what? I don’t need to. Yeah, I went over my calories a bit today. What’s it to ya? I was under yesterday. (By 350. I was actually pretty proud of that) Life evens out. And you know what, I refuse to live my life without the possibility of food parole. I’m not going to ban popcorn, or ice cream, or delectable brownies smothered in fudge. Life is too short for me to never eat anything sinfully delicious. Then again, life is too short to be fat, which is why you didn’t find me rolling around naked in the kiddie pool after finishing every single kernel of popcorn in it. Moderation, my dear friends, moderation. (I’d always heard that word and never really knew the meaning. Actually looked up the meaning of it today and it said something along the lines of stopping before reaching the outer limits of your digestive system)

Not only am I practicing moderation, but masochism as well. That’s right. A showdown of epic proportions. Me and the trampoline. Round two. I emerged victorious! I beat that piece of highly elastic equipment into submission. I am woman, see me bounce! Wait, aren’t I trying not to be bouncy anymore? No, that’s right, I just don’t want part of my body to bounce independently while the rest of me holds fast. Got it. But I got on that stupid thing and bounced away to my heart’s content. (Okay, my heart was totally content without ever getting within 10 feet of that stupid thing. But we’ll just roll with the cliches for now.) I can’t really call it “jumping”, as my feet never left the jumping surface (I’m not ready for flight just yet) but I managed to make it for 30+ minutes without crashing into the fireplace, knocking over the Christmas tree, breaking any bones, tearing any ligaments, or otherwise causing undue harm. Besides, I thing I finally showed that thing who’s boss. Yeah, that’s right. Don’t mess with the woman wearing leg warmers and a leotard. Back up off me before I get all jazzercise on your azzercise.

As a side note- thanks for all the wonderful comments. Glad to know I’m not the only one who finds this whole weight loss thing trying, testing, and absurdly humerous. Up up and away!

So yesterday- not too bad. All things considered. Spot the goldfish came out from behind his plants, I waved, dropped in a little bit of food, and surprisingly, wasn’t tempted to eat him or the strange orange flakes he seems to enjoy so much. Though that got me thinking. Why can’t people have canned flakes, or bags of kibble? Wouldn’t it be so much easier if, instead of counting calories and weighing meat, we could just measure out a cup and a half of kibbles and bits? And then… I got an intense craving for pasta smothered in melted cheese and I realized that the whole thing was a stupid idea.  Luckily, I wiped up my drool and was somehow able to lie to… er..convince myself that an orange would be just as good. Can’t believe I fell for that. Sucker.

I was able to keep my eating pretty clean, but I did cave a a bit at dinner. Thai. Sweet, sweet Thai. I thought that I could beat the craving, I started cooking dinner, only to find my broccoli had gone bad. Somehow, in my mind, that meant that God wanted me to have Thai food. (Which is why I would make an awful spiritual food advisor) So, I went. But, atleast Hubby and I walked over. Granted, it’s probably less than a hundred yards, but it was COLD! And I’m practically reptilian, so getting me to walk outside in anything less than 50 degrees is a feat in itself.  I had a spring roll and a half, and pad se ew with shrimp. Yum! I was able to fit it into my calories for the day, or atleast pretty close.

But a funny thing happened. Today I wish I would have just gotten more broccoli and fixed the dinner I had planned. Not because the Thai food wasn’t good, or because it was that bad for me, but I realize that I gave into a craving that wasn’t a truly deserving craving. I mean, I wanted it, but I didn’t WANT it, y’know? But I guess that just comes with the territory. Y’see, I took the little are you a compulsive eater quizzicle, and out of 13 questions, I’m pretty sure I answered yes to 15 of them. Which basically means that I have a case of hand-mouth disease, in which I can’t keep the two away from eachother. But what it means in terms of my weight is that I can’t listen to my own inner food voices. Because let’s face it, my inner food voices would much rather tie me down with red vines and feed me cheese covered fried foods until I passed out or begged for mercy.  I know that I don’t make good choices. And what’s sad about the whole thing is that I don’t even really want these things that I somehow feel I absolutely can’t live without.

But, all hope isn’t lost. Last night I crept into the kitchen and discovered my hubby had left the cookie dough (which had previously been placed in the witness protection program) on the counter. Sitting on the cutting board, a nice little knife sitting next to it. It was too easy. My mouth started to water, my hands started to shake. My eyes zoomed in. I began to stealthily sneak up on it, stalking my prey with silent precision. Somewhere in the living room, DH became aware of the feeding frenzy that was about to take place. He screamed “NOOOO!” and began running towards me. But it was too late. The knife was in my hand… the cookie dough was doomed. And I stopped. I put the knife down. I realized that I didn’t want the dough. I mean, come on. It wasn’t even home made. Baked goods should not come from anything resembling a log. By the time hubby reached me, the knife was down and the food demon was gone. I’m pretty sure I had already walked away from it even. When it came right down to it, I wanted the cookie dough because I
“shouldn’t” have it. And not because I really wanted it. And so I beat it. Healthy Outlook: 1. Cookie Dough Temptress: 2. (I did inform hubby that the dough’s cover had been blown. And it was better off relocated to a different state.)

 But this morning… I found it. The Holy Grail of healthy breakfasts. But let me explain the journey. I love fruit. Just about every kind. Adding fruits.. ha! I can do that in my sleep (which might explain the grape stems I found underneath my pillow) But vegetables.. surely you jest. Sadly, I was a vegetarian for 10 years and I still don’t like more than a small handful of varieties. So I made it somewhat of a mini goal to somehow get more vegetables into my diet. I briefly considered buying one of those “sneaky chef” cookbooks about getting broccoli into brownies and other absurd ways of getting your daily 5. But I realize that I’m not eight, and considering I’m the cook in the household, I don’t really know if I can “sneak” them in. Maybe close my eyes while I add them? So I had this rolling around in my head for awhile and found myself in the pantry. Lo and behold- a can of pumpkin. And the wheels started turning. And this morning they turned into an amazing breakfast. I present you with…. Pumpkin Oatmeal! Now I’m sure that atleast a few people are grimacing at the thought, but bear with me.

1 serving oatmeal

1/4 cup canned pumpkin

2 splenda packets

2 tbsp vanilla cinnamon fat free creamer (though milk would probably be just fine as well)

Seasoning to taste: cinnamon, nutmeg, ginger, clove.

And there you have it. Right around 200 calories, 36% of your daily fiber (if based on a 2000 calorie diet, which mine isn’t, so consider it even higher) and 300% of your vitamin A. And as an added bonus, totally delicious. It’s like pumpkin pie flavor in a totally nummy and comforting breakfast bowl. Granted, it was so filling that I couldn’t eat it all… but it was darn good what I did eat.  Proof that God loves me and wants me to be happy.

Unfortunately, I didn’t get any exercise in yesterday, other than our walk to dinner and back. But I had a killer sinus headache and the thought of bouncing was mortifying. Not to mention that my cold medication already had my head floating three feet above me. But tonight… is round two. Me v. the mini trampoline. I will emerge victorious. I will not be beaten by the bastard child of early 80s aerobics and effortless childhood. I did pull out my legwarmers. Maybe they’ll help, put the tramp more at ease (the exercise equipment, not me). So wish me luck. If you don’t hear from me again… be on the lookout for the “woman killed after jumping on mini trampoline, found impaled on Christmas tree” obituary. I won’t blame you if you laugh. I’ll just haunt you from beyond, by sending you a mini trampoline.

Okay, yesterday wasn’t so bad. Except that I was starving. Literally. Like I wanted to eat everything in sight.  My poor goldfish is still hiding behind his faux plants. He saw that look in my eye. That look that says “you would taste great with a slice of lemon and a side of french fries”.  All day I fantasized about food. Salty food, sweet food, fried food, baked food, food in my mouth food. And that sucked. Now some of you are thinking that I just need to bring more snacks or what not, but you’re wrong. No, no. This isn’t a problem with hunger. This is a cosmic battle between the good and evil, in which the dark side is desperate to bring all of me down into a pit of chocolate fudge despair. But, just like the movies, the good guy always wins. Give it up dark side. Resistance is futile! If only it were that easy… but I held firm with snacks, protein, carbs, and veggies.   It sucks, but I know that I’m not really hungry, I just feel like eating. Give me three days and I’ll actually start to believe that.

 So Sunday I had a crazy thought and went out and bought a mini trampoline. Now, just buying a mini trampoline at Walmart causes every person who eyes your purchase to picture you with a side pony and leg warmers. But who cares. You’re in Walmart anyway, half the people there are chugging away on a Marlboro and trying to decide between Old Milwaukee and PBR.  So I brought it home and the workout began. Not the jumping on the trampoline workout, the naging up the blinds workout. Because Lord knows I was NOT about to start bouncing my stuff all over the place in full view of the nighbors. Let me tell you, climbing up and into that front window to get those damn blinds up is a workout in itself. I’m doing curls with the cordless drill, shoulder presses with the blinds, and none of it was even intentional. So I finally manage to get the stupid blinds up, and I’m ready to bounce the night away.

Which lasted all of ten minutes. Who would have thought that bouncing on a trampoline would be so tiring! No wonder kids are so skinny! I mean, you would think that with my weight and the principles of gravity, I’d be half way there. But no. It’s that whole upward motion thing that puts the exercise in fun. My thighs burned, my butt hurt, and my calves threatened to pack up and leave. But, I made it for ten minutes. Gosh darn it. Someday I’ll work my way up to the jumping stamina of a six year old. How can they be so bouncy? Must investigate.

 My “ack” moment didn’t come as the result of a newly discovered muffintop, or jumping up a size. I’d gotten pretty used to the size escalator (+5 in under a year) and luckily I live where it’s cold, and with winter fast upon us, my festive stomach is comfortably hidden underneath layers of fleece, down, wool, cotton, and any other fabric I can slather on there. Instead, I guess my moment of “the madness has got to end” came when I realized that I had lost me, somewhere inside myself. I used to be a star soccer player, a backpacker, a gym rat, and a powerfully confident individual who believed she could do anything.  Now, I’m 22 and already can’t climb up a flight of stairs without feeling winded. My idea of a great time is mindless TV and a full spread of disgustingly fat-saturated fast food, connected to my face like a feedbag. And that’s not who I want to be.

So I decided to change, and fantasized about the new me. I threw myself into the gym until it hurt, I counted every calorie and resented every baby carrot. But the new me, oh man, she was going to be worth it. NewMe was a perfectly sculpted, toned, modern day goddess. NewMe would be perfectly coiffed, with a stylish wardrobe and complexion worthy of a DaVinci painting. She would be successful in every avenue of her life, conquering both the professional and personal worlds while barely lifting one of her perfectly manicured fingers. In my mind, I was convinced that when the time was right, NewMe would walk off of a magazine cover, and into CurrentMe’s life, replacing OldMe and filling her place with a fascinating, incredibly talented, and most important of all, beautiful woman worthy of envy.

And so I began preparations for NewMe’s arrival, compulsively trying to perfect every avenue of my life. I exorcised every dust bunny from my house. I arranged my pantry with exacting precision, and labeled the shelves in my fridge by day. I became the ziploc bag queen, portion controlling every single grape, carrot, and ounce of broccoli in the county. My beauty regimen began taking over my life, bleaching my teeth, plucking my eyebrows daily, trying my hardest to spend the hour a day it took to beat my hair into submission, and spending my spare time analyzing every pore on my face in agonizing detail. I planned workouts that would leave Lance Armstrong exhausted and meals that would make anyone with tastebuds cringe.

It’s no wonder that I couldn’t keep all those plates in the air. The unfortunate thing is that, because my goal was perfection, a single misstep caused the entire dream to come crashing down around me.  At that point, my all-or-nothing  mentality kicked in and took me on a TacoBellMcDonaldsLordIWasn’tEvenHungryHowDidIEatThatMuch joyride that crashed and burned into five extra pounds. In a brief fit of insanity, I considered throwing myself back into my all-consuming quest for perfection. I mean, the definition of insanity IS doing the same thing repeatedly and expecting different results. But instead, I took some time to think and realized that the idea of perfection doesn’t make me happy- it terrifies me and gives me the shakes more than too many cups of coffee first thing in the morning.

I’ve since decided that I don’t want to be perfect. And I don’t want a NewMe. Because, you know what? There’s nothing wrong with me. I may carry a few more pounds than I’d like- but that doesn’t define me as a person. My focus now is on shedding that weight (literally and figuratively) to make room for the real me to shine through. So, here I am, trying to get out of my own way.

I’ll never be on a magazine cover, or have perfect hair. I’ll never have a perfect body or get my whole house straightened out. But, I’m going to be happy. Because I realize that being happy isn’t about being perfect. It’s about laughing because you’re too clumsy to iceskate, but trying anyway. It’s about accepting the fact that the only thing I can’t do is the thing I’m too scared to try. So here’s to trying new things, cooking without fear of vegetables, working out without fear of sweating, and leaping without fear of falling short.

So yes. I’ll have the GettingMyLifeBack with  a side of WhateverI’veBeenMissing with extra HeckYesLet’sDoThisThing. And don’t go easy on anything.