A friend of mine, who I hadn’t seen in a while, remarked on the amount of weight I lost during the pandemic year. Then, she immediately asked, “Do you ever take a break and treat yourself?” I paused for a second and thought Everyone wants to lose weight, but no one wants to diet. Including me. The short answer was yes. And it’s the same for both my dieting and writing disciplines. But I’m judicious with breaks. Many times in the past breaks caused me to slip back into old habits.
As I’ve stated in a previous post, I started dieting by first cutting my meals in half. Only after months of doing that did I begin what some might consider a diet. Actually, it’s a lifestyle change. I don’t believe in diets. I’m not planning on going back to the way I used to eat. In this context a break is not a break or a reward. It’s a choice. These days, I’m embracing the word choice. Choice gives me more power than a break or a reward. I’m not a seal clapping for a fish. I’m not a good dog who deserves a treat for catching a frisbee. I’m a human with choices.
Taking Back Power
I’m reshaping my relationship to food and to what brings me joy. Simply put, choice is power. For example, I wouldn’t choose to drink too much and show up for work tipsy. Logically, if I overeat at my friends’ dinner party, the next morning I’d eat light and exercise during the day. Taking a break from my diet is a choice. Chocolate cake is a choice. So is eating a healthy, nutritious meal. For me, it’s about balance. I once asked my chiropractor, who was in excellent shape, if there were days he didn’t exercise. He said, “Of course. Your body is not a machine. The difference between me and others is, after the break, I get right back to it.”
Danger and Forgiveness
The danger of taking a break is, of course, the length of the break. As long as I remember the danger of sliding back into my comfortable place, then I’m less able to fool myself that one more bite of cake is okay. Discipline is difficult for me. And there have been times when my breaks ran on for too long. But I’ve come to believe this is okay. As long as I get back to the discipline. Here is the trick. When I see my weight go up or stay the same, I don’t beat myself up for it. I accept it and think, I’ll get back to it tomorrow. And then I make sure I keep that promise to myself.
Forgiveness is a big deal when dealing with others, but I’m always surprised how little we value it for ourselves. It’s uncomfortable as hell to acknowledge weakness. But forgiving myself for my weaknesses can be very motivating because I’m admitting I have them. Forgiveness shines a light on the flaw or fault and gives me a focus for the work ahead. Again, it all comes back to choice. By seeing my weakness and focusing on it, I have the choice to change it.
Sitting Through the Hungry
What’s the hardest thing about dieting? Hunger. What’s the hardest thing about writing? Judgement. Are hunger and judgement related? Boiled down to their essences they are both physically painful. Sitting with hunger for hours at a time when all I want is a bowl of carbs is physically painful. Judging my words as they fly from my fingers is also painful. (Where did the genius go? She was just here a moment ago, but now I want to throw my computer out the window.) For me, writing is a kind of hunger. I’m never satisfied. I have trouble sitting with imperfection, with hunger of any kind. Most often I don’t want to give up a night out with friends in order to write. It’s much easier to tell jokes and laugh with them. It’s much easier to eat and watch a show on television where the story is perfectly worked out, where people are funny or handsome, where houses are beautiful and romance blooms around every corner. Even if I’m watching a murder mystery, the detective will solve the crime. If the film is crappy, I can change the channel. When the party ends, I come home and go to sleep. I’m in complete control. But dieting hurts—daily. And a writing discipline hurts—daily. I have less control over how I feel. Each of these endeavors stretches my soul, my body and my tolerance in ways I’m not used to. Growing in this way is good for me, sometimes I even enjoy it, but at the same time, it hurts.
The Daily Fight
For years I let my body go and let my writing founder. The value of A Day at A Time was lost on me. It meant nothing. But since I made this commitment to myself, the moment by moment truth of that cliche resonated like a quartz crystal in a watch. It’s accurate. And it’s comforting. By slowing down and experiencing what I’m feeling at this micro level, I’m able to handle the pain. It’s bearable. And beatable.
A few years ago I commuted during the spring from New York to New Jersey for work, and I was fortunate enough to have the same driver for most of my trips. He was Muslim, and during Ramadan he fasted. We chatted often about food and fasting since most of the time I commuted in the early evening. At sunset an alarm on his phone rang indicating the end of his fast for the day. The first item he reached for was his water bottle. I often wondered how he managed all day without food, but I was stunned when he told me he didn’t drink anything either. I admired his will power, his choice to sacrifice for his beliefs. I think of him often when I’m hungry and choosing to wait for my next meal or when I’m tired after a day’s work and choosing to write.
Until next time, embrace choice!
Jan
*Writing Tip: If you’re tired or if time is limited, but you want to stick to a writing discipline, try writing for 15 minutes. This really works for me because I usually end up writing over the time limit. It’s also a great way to loosen up your creative magic. Happy Writing! * Did you enjoy this post? Share it with like-minded friends!