I am on the path. I know the start weight. I know the score. The feeling. The muscle memory of January 1. This is the easiest day of the whole thing. The simplest to find the Fitbit and get it charged. To look up a few low-carb websites. To add a couple glasses of water to your morning. To eat some cheese and be distracted by the newness of it all.
This is the day for all of that to happen.
I have gained weight over this year of undocumented emotional indulgence. The roller coaster of are they, aren’t they, will they, won’t they, do they, don’t they has taken its only just now acknowledged toll. I’ve pretended that I feel the same, even if stairs leave me slightly ought of breath, if I feel slightly overclocked sometimes, a mind and heart racing without any particular stress to trigger it. There are signs that are subtle and not that double orders of chile cheese fries have an impact to the body.
I don’t feel the resonating thrum around the idea of providing this page with yet another, probably annual at this point, mea culpa. I don’t feel like a public face palm is all that valuable to me, personally. I was mad earlier, overlooking the scale, not shocked, but disappointed that I thought that the magic in my magical thinking was hardcore enough as to invent a workaround for the Law of Conservation. That I could eat violently – eat against imperfection – and end up perfect. End up unmarked and not carrying all of the impact of adding dessert at every meal, of cravenly eschewing anything remotely green in color (the chile was mostly red in hue). As ever, the value to me, or to you now, is in the path forward where either we do a little better at not fucking things up, or we don’t. I mean, as much chatter as I can provide us both about it and we all know I can chatter with the best of them when I’m of a mind, the things I do today are what the rest of my life will look like if I don’t break the chain.
I have my plans. My flexible suggestions that I am going to be writing into law once I am sure I am not going to spend every day breaking them. I am writing them down, but not here. Again, not until I am doing something I can comment on. Day One, as has been explained to me at my new corporate job, is energy and excitement and press releases and the whole embodied concept of LAUNCH! It’s important and necessary to cast your boat off the shore hard and get moving. But it’s Day Two, it’s the realization that people – perhaps you, dear reader – have moved on. The excitement for them is already behind them, scratched out of their bullet journals, and it is on you to design and sustain your own passion and maintain it so you can sell it back to them all the way down the road.
So I have done the Day One Showing Up. I have provided myself the rationale. I have not eaten a single marshmallow of the bag of marshmallows that have sat next to me on the couch all day long. I have joined the hordes of perpetual failure: I have started a diet and I hope I achieve my goals with it. But this is the same group that is winnowed out into those who get somewhere, who do make it. It has to come out of the pool of everyone who is willing to say, goddamnit, okay, maybe my Id can’t run me from morning to night and I have to put my foot down. All of us tryers standing at the shore, taking the shove into the waters we know, pulling ourselves into the waters we don’t.