A number of months ago, I wrote about my preoccupation with death, and what it meant for a person like me who couldn’t make heads or tails of it.
Maybe it’s because this year has been shrouded in death that death continues to linger over me, threatening to scare me at every corner. The only thing we have in common with one another is that the clock is ticking for all of us.
Why lead off a blog about weight loss about the inevitability of death? Because this is what’s been plaguing my dreams, causing my panic attacks, had me questioning my faith, what I thought I knew and what I think I know. And weight loss plays a major role in my on-going relationship with the impending hour glass that has my name stamped into it – we lose weight, or at the very least try to take care of our bodies – to slow the hour glass down.
Our spirit manifests in these robotic shells. We will them to move, and jump, and dance, and eat. Learn, and grow, and become. All the while, they are decaying like a car depreciating off the lot. And while that sounds morbid, or discontinuing, or macabre, the fact is, we can either take care of these cocoons. Or we choose to not to. The choice is completely up to us.
While I don’t think pressing pause on the sands of time is an option, prolonging the expiry date seems to be the marathon many of us are running. In short, I woke up this morning and thought to myself – why am so obsessed about what happens after I die? I am allowing the space in my head to be rented out over something I literally have no control over. And whatever happens then that is causing the panic attacks now seems like a great waste of the precious drips of life I have remaining.
It’s time to figure out the positive. 2020 is coming to a close. Christmas is nearing. And while we dive headfirst into the second wave of the pandemic, it’s more critical than ever to start being thankful for what is still ours and not what’s been taken away. I would have loved to have seen my sisters this year, but congregating in groups isn’t an option. So, to make sure that I see them, and spend Christmas with them next year, we’ve opted to cancel this year’s plans to be safe. To incubate the notion that next year will be here, bigger than ever, and that’s because we took precautions now. Isn’t that all any of us are doing?
What else has been positive? Well, for lord tunderin’, I got engaged to the love of my life. And bought a house. And switched careers. And my kids moved to Kingston with me. And my daughter is getting married. And I lost 50lbs.
I’d say worrying about the afterlife has become a maddening stain on all the positives that have happened for me.
It’s easy to get bogged down by the shittiness the world is providing. In the photos and videos we stream. In the canceling of holidays and time with loved ones. In learning of death and devastation that has plagued our world this year. It’s easy to lose yourself in all that’s gone wrong instead of what’s focusing on what’s right. 2020 taught me mortality. I’m hopeful 2021 will teach me how to manage it.
But back to weight loss. As I force back the hands of Father Time, I have finally seen a ‘7’ on the scale. I became pregnant with Kid A when I was 18, and 120lbs. I was 195 when I had her. I fell to 150 after she was born, but ballooned to 205 when I had Kid B. Back down to approximately 160 when I had Kid C, and fell to a resting 180/185 for the rest of my adult life. ‘7’ was never a number that stuck around long enough for me to see it stand on a scale.
“When was the last time you saw a 7 on the scale?” asked my Coach.
“This morning at home, ” I smiled.
Going forward, the meals are going to be Bento boxes of simple finger foods to fuel me through the long days. My career keeps me more activate than I’ve been in years. I may have had to ditch the treadmill in the interim. But I get plenty of cardio on my feet most of the days. I don’t have the time to sit and eat full meals. So baby carrots, hardboiled eggs, snack-y type foods will be the test this week.
Last year, at this time, Jan and I were packing boxes at my apartment. The move in date was set for the beginning of December. I was already nearly fifteen extra pounds heavier from when I’d moved to Kingston just a couple of short years early. I couldn’t have known that within six more months, I’d add another thirty-five to that list. And now, 4 1/2 months later, I’m down more than 50, and have successfully trimmed down 16″ off my waist. In fact, I did something today I haven’t since being a teenager – I tucked my shirt into the waist of my jeans. Find success in the smallest details. Because it’s a cultivation of all the little happy times that define the big moments.
— c ☆