Life seems to be at a bit of an impasse these days. Back in December, I wrote my letter to Santa and outlined the three areas of my life I wanted him to help me figure out – personal, professional and geographical – and have since been trying to gauge which of said area(s) need to be tweaked in order to make the other(s) fall in line.
I began by delving into the dating world, convinced that finding love in [insert Midwestern city] might be the easiest way to happiness. Or at least it would be easier than finding another job after 10 years in my current occupation or picking up and moving to my fourth state in seven years. Alas, we all know that has been less than successful (I realize a few months of brutal online dating and a couple of botched fixups hardly means I am destined to be an old maid, but it has hardly been fulfilling).
Instead, all I have really done in this time is re-discover my kitchen (and how much I hate my old oven/stove) and spent days baking, cooking and having friends over for dinner. While that made my happier than anything has in awhile, it was not the magical fix I am [naively] looking and hoping for.
That fix is going to require putting myself out there and, quite frankly, now is not the best time to do that. Yes, I would like to have the DTR (define the relationship) with NDNS (neither defined nor satisfying), but something always seems to come up/I chicken out. And yes, I would love to look for another job, but the best time to do that isn’t until late spring/early summer and I still haven’t the faintest idea what it should be in. And yes, of course, I would love to pick up my life and move out west, but that’s not entirely practical without either of the other two things as support.
Now I realize this does not sound like the attitude of someone who promised to live boldly in the New Year, but so much of life is about timing and right now, may simply not be the right one.
With that thought weighing on me (TBA pun intended), it should come as little surprise to anyone who really knows me that I had to quickly find something I could control.
And so, about a week and a half ago, I joined Weight Watchers. I have a handful of friends who have had varying degrees of success with making their lives revolve around meetings, points and weekly weigh-ins and I decided to give it a try. Though considered healthy by both society and myself, I still have about 18 pounds between me and my “ideal” weight, whatever that really means.
Contrary to how that may sound, it has been a long time since I have truly cared about that three-digit number. As a former and wannabe future athlete, I have generally been more concerned with my body in terms of functionality and practicality. To a point that is still true; however, as I try to re-achieve athlete status, I am realizing it might be easier to do with a little lighter body. Springier. More compact.
And so, I have become that woman who pre-plans meals and reduces everything consumed to a single digit (or double if splurging). I allot weekly bonus points and collect activity points from early-morning and late-night workouts. I actually question the worth of downing a glass of wine.
After a week and half, I have lost about two pounds, which is certainly exciting and enough to convince me to keep going for at least a week and a half more. Unlike life and love, this is something I have close to total control over.
There have been two other times in my life, both in the last 11 years or so, I have felt the need to be this in command of something, and neither instance had positive consequences. The second time was about six and a half years ago, right after I graduated college, and is not something I am ready to turn into words on a screen.
The first, though, began four years earlier after what can only begin to be called a tumultuous year. As a senior in high school, four of my friends passed away – all separate from each other and all in ways that are heartbreaking to conceive of even all these years later. At the same time, I was battling injuries that were about to mark the end of my limited athletic career (at the time, it seemed like another death) and, not surprisingly, I had a hard time dealing with everything.
No one would have known that then as I continued to pour myself into school, extracurricular activities and putting one foot in front of the other. On the inside, however, I was desperate for something to control and that would eventually become my food consumption (or lack thereof). I will spare everyone the entire story, but essentially over the next couple years I battled anorexia, a host of self esteem and body issues and, thanks to the current events around the DC area circa 2000-01, anxiety that would turn into depression when combined with the other factors.
Though few knew what was going on, including my own family, it was not a happy time. But, like everything else, it made me a much stronger person.
I hadn’t thought about that time of my life until recently when I went to dinner with a colleague I had met just twice previously in professional settings. She was in town for a couple days so, trying to be polite, I offered a night out to keep her from being stuck in the hotel. This turned into a five-hour marathon meal during which I had the privilege of getting to know one of the most fascinating women I have ever come in contact with. She told me stories of growing up in a large, impoverished immigrant family and the journey through years of angst, anxiety and turmoil to where she is now.
I felt silly countering with tales of my own semi-privileged upbringing, but felt solace in revealing my own sagas of depression, eating disorders and, at times, nearly crippling apprehension. On a lighter note, I also offered up stories of this 500-day countdown and what I hope to accomplish by the end of it.
Towards end of the night, this woman looked at me and said she could tell I was a survivor and that I was strong. The thoughtfulness behind the words would not hit me until later, but it meant the world to me to hear. True heartbreak and loss can manifest themselves in different ways in different people and I have oft struggled with the way I ended up handling it.
So yes, for the third time in my life, I feel as if I have lost control of it enough to need to single-mindedly command a single part, but for the first time, I am choosing to do so in a positive manner. Regardless of how much weight I may or may not lose over the next couple months, I will not lose myself in the process. This time, it’s all part of my ultimate goal of gaining so much more … including my groove.
