Aren't We All

I'm keeping the faith. Hit the gym again today and sweated my ass off on the elliptical, then almost pulled a muscle in my shoulder patting myself on the back. Eating the things I should be eating, not eating the things I shouldn't be eating. Not obsessing about the scale, but weighing myself every morning to chart my progress.

Also: Since I've come back from vacation, by and large I've been  grumpy as hell. I have cruel thoughts all the time about perfectly nice people and on occasion I find myself actually giving voice to those thoughts without even realizing it. I'm quick to feel slighted and disregarded and superior in most conversations, and I struggle to recognize and transcend those instincts. I am easily overwhelmed by a kind of lazy cynicism, or maybe it's laziness disguised as cynicism, that seeps into and affects the quality of my thinking and intellectual and creative output. I am not suffering fools gladly these days, as my mother used to say. And I'm really tired, all the time. I'm seeing difference, not unity. I'm feeling feisty and combative. 

And somehow I think it's necessary for me to feel all these things right now in order to get myself to something else, if that makes any sense. I'm inventing a running narrative, as we all do, all the time, and right now my narrative is the kind of  shitty, self-reflexive, snarky black comedy that I would have no interest in actually sitting through. Except that I am sitting through it, because it's all around me.  I'm working something out, I think, and I kind of don't want to rush it. I don't want to nurture it either--I don't want to actually *be* this guy for any prolonged period of time--but I don't want to be who I'm not either. I want to earn a positive outlook, not try one on like a new hat. This is how things tend to work for me--everything kind of seems shitty even though I know it really isn't and then suddenly everything doesn't seem so shitty anymore. Or else it still does, which means it actually was shitty and it's time to change something. That's not what's happening this time, I don't think, but either way, something is propelled. It's all a step forward.  

Right?

But Seriously...

I've decided that the "easing into an experiment" phase of my weigh-loss plan has ended and the regimented, disciplined, get-on-the-scale-every-morning-and-chart-your-progress phase must begin. The vacation is out of the way, the summer birthdays and 4th of July parties are out of the way, the grief pangs for the loss of fried cheese chocolate goodness is (mostly) out of the way, and I'm fresh out of excuses.

So here's what it's going to be, for now: 45 minutes of exercise four times a week--lunchtime cardio or swimming at the gym on Monday-Wednesday-Friday, and one hour long walk, hike, swim or elliptical workout at home on the weekend. No red meat, no fried foods, limited starches, lots of water. Focusing on low-fat meals and small fruit or grain snacks. Wheat toast with a dab of peanut butter for breakfast; bannana or yogurt for a mid-morning snack; a sensible lunch of either chicken with brown rice, turkey sandwich, grilled chicken salad; pretzels or a granola bar for an afternoon snack; and a sensible dinner (light pasta, fish, chicken, etc.) along with a salad at night. Frozen yogurt or smoothies when I need a pick-me-up. Lots of coffee, still, always, lots of coffee. Beer on the weeknights, permission to drink the hard stuff on the weekends. Not ready to give up alcohol just yet.

That's how I'm going to do it. I'm not counting grams of fat or calories, I'm not going to be religious about making sure I get enough of this or not too much of that. I'm going to stick to relatively healthy foods that I know I like in moderation and force myself to be vigilant about an exercise regimen. I will slip, on occasion, and if I have uncontrollable insane urges I will give in and not beat myself up about it. My watchwords are BALANCE, MINDFULNESS and SELF-CONTROL. Listen to my whole body, not just my stomach. My stomach is a greedy bastard, and it lies. 

I started yesterday, and so far so good. I'm going to try to stick to my original plan and post something here every day to help keep myself accountable. Full speed  ahead.

Somewhere Else

Back from paradise. I can't say I completely maintained a healthy lifestyle on our 10 day Hawaiian jaunt, but I didn't completely lose control either. I started out strong but by the end of the trip I was indulging in teriyaki beef and macadamia nuts and two days into the mainland return I'm struggling to pull myself back onto the wagon. I don't feel like applying rigor and mindfulness to my habits, I'm tired and still half in vacation mode and I'm craving a jolt of energy, fun, adventure, edge. I'm not ready to come home and start acting like a grown-up again. How did I get here? This is not my beautiful house!

Except that it is. And I love it. 

I'm just drifty and wistful. I had a disturbing dream the other night in which I was saving an abandoned baby from a crackhouse and giving a eulogy at a friend's funeral wearing only my bathrobe. I haven't been able to shake the feeling it left in me for the past few days. Hopeless and resigned and distant, the kind of sadness that is a prelude to detachment, like a shake of the head, a shrug of the shoulders, a "what are you gonna do?"

I don't want to get old. I don't want to watch myself from up on high. I don't want to shake my head in resigned bemusement. I want to be here, where I am. I don't like feeling this way. I think I need to get really drunk.

Aloha Interlude

We leave for Hawaii tomorrow, for 10 days, and not a minute too soon. I hope not to open the computer much on our trip so I most likely won't post anything for the next week and a half, if all goes well.

And I haven't written much this week, either, mainly because I haven't let myself calm down and breathe much, which was part of the initial purpose of the blog. All in all, though, I'm doing allright. I'm maintaining with food and have gotten past several big moments of temptation and I've been in a good groove with most other things. I'm moving along, in other words, and working hard to keep going, and cannot wait to lose myself in my family and the beach and fresh pineapple juice and maybe even actually read a book or two (!) I have to get past the flight anxiety and my superstitious karmic pessimism, ie. the idea that anytime I actually let myself look forward to something it will be horribly ruined as a lesson in humility and a reminder about the how the universe actually works--but other than that I'm primed and ready to go.

Couldn't Call it Unexpected

I ate too much this weekend. In fact I think I might have twisted my ankle falling off the wagon. Thankfully the wagon was going pretty slowly, as I didn't build up much real speed in the last few weeks, but I tumbled off it pretty solidly all the same. It's not that I indulged *all* my appetites or set myself back too far--I opted out of birthday cake not once but twice, for the the love of Christ--but I did let myself have a taste of chaos again, and I stopped being actively mindful about my food choices. But the weekend is over and I'm crawling my way back to the straight and narrow, bloody but unbowed. It could have been worse, and in fact usually is, as far as my indulgences go, so I'm going to avoid the cycle of self-pity and defeat that usually leads me to abandon a lifestyle change after the first bump in the road. I saw this coming, I know what it's about, and I don't need to let it stop me.

I don't actually feel too guilty, in other words, which I'm taking as a good sign, and I've done just fine getting back in control today. But I'm also getting bored. And that's a big part of the problem too. What I don't fully understand just yet is why I feel so much happier when I'm a little bit out of control. Because I do. Immaturity? Insecurity? Laziness? Or just something about my temperment? Or maybe it's purely sensory, which underscores again for me the fact that the only way to really evolve this experiment to the next level is to start adding real structured physical activity to the mix. I need to release something with exercise, as much to keep myself challenged and interested as anything else. But I'm really fucking tired and lazy and I just don't want to think about going to the gym or taking a long walk, and we're leaving for Hawaii in less than a week anyway, and there's all that work to do, and my time with my family is so precious as it is, and...and...and...ugh.

In Dependence

I've now gotten through a solid two weeks of not eating like a 10 year old let loose at a fried cheese buffet, and though I've definitely hit ups and downs it feels like I've stabilized a bit. My appetite has adjusted, finally, to the portions and frequency of my dining, which is just a way of saying I'm not completely starving all the fucking time, though I'm still far from satiated. I haven't exercised much, at least not in a methodical or organized way, but I have made a point to walk more and consciously be more active in my daily life. I've lost a bit of weight, but I'm trying not to focus on that, both because I know it's easy to drop pounds when you first start and because I want to remind myself that I'm doing this as a lifestyle change, not a game to hit a certain number. I've even gotten through a few social settings without throwing myself off-track, and have managed the trick of moderate temporary indulgence followed by a quick return to mindful food management. So far so good, in other words.

But here's the thing: my routine is about to get thrown way off track. It's a holiday weekend, for one thing, and my next few days will be littered with food-filled get-togethers and friends in from out of town, all of which are big triggers for me to move into celebratory-cum-nihilism-life's-too-short-let's-savor-its-sweet-nectars mode. Even more daunting is our upcoming trip to Hawaii, a scant 9 days away, which stands as a much-needed respite from our busy, hectic schedules. It's a relaxation measure, in other words, and this kid just don't know how to relax without a bag of chips or an extra-large pizza. I suppose I could try to score a big bag of weed on the island, but ultimately that would just exacerbate my desire for the aforementioned items. It's sad, but it's absolutely true, and I'm trying not to freak out about it. My wife is fully supportive of this lifestyle change and certainly will not introduce any temptation, and we're going to be spending a significant amount of time with two of our best friends, who understand probably better than anyone else I know the struggle I'm facing. So that provides a modicum of comfort, a quantum of solace if you will, but I can't say I'm brimming with confidence that I'll survive the trip with my new lifestyle intact. As I said before, I'm trying to eat like a normal person, and even normal people throw caution to the wind when they spend a week lounging on the beach and sipping Mai Tais.

So I guess it's time to get past the normal-person stage. My relationship to food is far from normal, in truth, and if I'm going to make this work I have to accept and adjust to that fact. I need to put some measures in place and be diligent about continuing on this path, and I think I will. I believe I can. But it ain't going to get any easier.

My Sweet Love

"When in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes,
I all alone beweep my outcast state,
And trouble deaf Heaven with my bootless cries,
And look upon myself, and curse my fate,
Wishing me like to one more rich in hope,
Featur'd like him, like him with friends possess'd,
Desiring this man's art, and that man's scope,
With what I most enjoy contented least:
Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising,
Haply I think on thee,--and then my state
(Like to the lark at break of day arising
From sullen earth) sings hymns at heaven's gate;
For thy sweet love remember'd such wealth brings
That then I scorn to change my state with kings'."

--William Shakespeare, Sonnet 29

I've written a lot here about my own struggles to recognize and control my own self-destructive habits and patterns. I think about those things a lot. I think about how hard it is to understand what I really want, how hard it is to figure out how to get it, how hard it is to be useful and hopeful in the world. And those things are all true, for me. But what is also true, what is more true, in fact, is that I am deliriously, unbelievably, bursting-at-the-seams happy where it really counts. At the end of the day there is one simple reason for that, there is one thing I know with absolute conviction deep down in my soul, one thing that offers daily proof to me that the universe is more intense and beautiful than we can ever know. That one thing is a person, my soulmate, my best friend and deepest companion, my beautiful, incandescently graceful wife, Dawn Marie Buettner-Huntington.

My wife saved my life. I believe that, in ways that I can't even express. And she's kept on saving it every day since we met, just by being who she is. Who is she? Well, it's true to say that she's beautiful, kind, loving, creative, nurturing, charming, funny, that she's a wonderful mother and a source of constant, unconditional love and support, that after almost ten years of marriage and almost twenty years of friendship she still surprises me on a daily basis with hidden reservoirs of strength, vulnerability and emotion, that she inspires me to try to become the best version of myself, that she charts her own course in the world by instinct and will, that she possesses a kind of stiff inner compass that always points the way forward, that just thinking about her face sitting here at my desk makes me smile. All those things are true, and more. But the thing that saves me, every morning, the thing that really preserves my faith and optimism about the universe, is that there exists another person in this world who is willing to dedicate every fiber of her being to building a foundation of love and joy by my side. She is in it, in other words, until the end, and she is going to do the work, no matter how hard it is, to make sure we get to the end. And that's all it takes, because once that woman's mind is made up it's all over, jack. *Nobody* works harder than her, nobody possesses a stronger will or a more focused determination to complete a task. And one of the tasks she's chosen to complete is to construct a beautiful family, fueled and guided by love, and by some insane stroke of cosmic luck, she's chosen to do it with me.

That is the reason, less I overstate my neurosis, that I am writing a blog and taking walks around the block to deal with my issues rather than shooting heroin or jumping off buildings or muttering nonsense on a street corner somewhere while the birds shit on my head. I believe in love, I believe in hope, I believe in the power of human will and the strength of kindness and compassion because I SEE IT EVERY DAY.

Happy birthday, Dawnie Marie. I love you.