The Obligatory Post

Every year around this time I write a post about how different my life is going to be next year.  About how I’m going to change my entire existence and have everything together.  About how I’m going to leave the shambles of the proverbial today and yesterday behind me with a renewed sense of self and motivation.

This is not that post.

That being said…I love New Year’s.

We all knew it was coming.  The obligatory post where I profess my love for this understated holiday.  I can’t help it.  It’s been my favorite for as long as I can remember.  I know the calendar has nothing to do with this, but there is something about the last number of the year changing that signifies a baptism. The past is put aside so new experiences can emerge. With the change in number so comes a change in attitude, purpose and resolve, almost as if the year is shedding off it’s old coat in order have renewed sparkle and shine.

Just scrolling through my posts on facebook from this day in the past brings up a variety of negativity.  Posts about friends not being my friend anymore, about how I’m completely burned out with life and lack basic patience, about how I never hold myself accountable for anything, about how I tend to make bad decisions, about how I never manage to take the “first step”, and just excuses upon excuses for everything.

And I hate that.  I hate that my favorite holiday, the end of the year and beginning of rebirth and renewal, is continually marred by my constant negativity.  So many posts of how I’m done with this year and ready for the next and how the year was horrible and I can’t wait for it to be over.  I’m rolling my eyes at myself as we speak.

Yes to all those things.  Completely.  Life has been hard each year and I tend to end on a rather low note instead of going out with a bang.  But this year, the difference is I’m not ending my year by stating how horrible this year was and how I’m ready to leave it behind me.  Actually, it’s quite the opposite.  While this year has been my hardest year to date, for once I’m ending it happily.

As my favorite author once wrote:

“It is so hard to leave—until you leave. And then it is the easiest goddamned thing in the world.”

And that’s the biggest truth I ever heard.  While this year was hard, it was full of bravery and courage that I never knew I had.  Once I was able to really leave my toxic situation behind, it’s amazing how many things were able to fall into place. I’ve never been happier in life.

I won’t bore you all with my new year’s resolutions.  In fact, I don’t really plan on making them.   But still, there are changes that need to be made.  It’s time to reboot and recharge.  It’s time to take a break from things that are dragging me down, mentally, physically, and spiritually.  It’s time for making plans and moving forward with a renewed sense of vim and vigor.

No more constant worrying and regrets.  No more trying to change the past.  No more agonizing over friendships and relationships.

“Don’t look back.  You’re not going that way.”

More mindfulness.  More being present in the moment.

Each and every day.

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It comes and goes. And I need it to stay.

After Joe got a new dresser all to himself, I was finally able to take over the big dresser completely.  For someone who completely doesn’t give a crap about fashion and usually looks like a cross between asleep and homeless chic, it turns out I have quite a lot of clothes.  Going from a walk in closet with built in shelves AND a large dresser to a small closet and half a dresser was definitely a bit of a struggle (but one I most willingly made and wanted to make, and was happy to make, so no, I am not complaining).

But as always, I digress.  Long story short, I have quite a bit of clothes.  So, after two weeks of Joe moving into a new dresser and me taking over the rest of the dresser, I finally had a free afternoon to organize and move my clothes (from my closet floor, Charlie’s dresser, and the boy’s room).

And I have come to realize…I have a lot of workout clothes.  I mean… A LOT (see below for about 2/3).

And in the past few weeks I haven’t worn one piece of them.

Oh, I wore a couple when I faked my way through the run streak for a few days before I was sidelined by the stomach bug.

And the few times I managed to go to the gym that I pay quite a lot for.

But mostly, they just sit there.  Looking at me.  Judging me.  Telling me to get off my ass.  And let’s be clear, I want to.  But I don’t listen at all.

I don’t know why this was easier when my life was “harder”.  When I was beyond lost, and my dad died, and I had nothing else to lose.  But it was. And I was able to lose 75 pounds.

Now, I can’t seem to get up the motivation to wake up at five.  Or hit the gym after work.  Or not eat the damn cookie in the cabinet.  And I need to.  Because it’s killing me (literally killing me) not to.

But this is a new week.  And the running clothes are organized and ready for the morning.  And lunches are prepped.  And a workout schedule is made.

So maybe this is the week I am able to finally get my shit together.

Finger’s crossed.

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