Guys, I stepped on a scale today and I was five kilograms heavier than I was the last time I checked; about 2 or 3 weeks before. It’s the heaviest I’ve weighed all year, so you can imagine how unpleasant i thought I’d feel. But you know what went through my mind? It’s just 5 kilos. Now if you know me, you know how much I love food. And if you know me especially well, then you know how hard it is to fit me and exercise in the same equation. We’re like oil and water… we love to try but it just doesn’t work out (pun intended). So as I’m writing this, I’m smiling to myself thinking about the progress I’ve made in terms of food freedom these past months. A little while ago, I’d be dying at the knowledge that I’ve gained 5 kilos. I’m not kidding; I’d be in a serious bout of depression which comes with the worst episodes of binge eating you can imagine. But you know what I thought this time? I really have been over doing the luxurious breakfasts these last few weeks since self employment. I kid you not… Chocolate croissants, large beef samosas, sausages, coffee (with full cream milk)… the works! And when I get home from a long day at work, the only thing that will pick me up is a good old KFC meal. I really can’t be helped! This has been my life for about two months now, my cheeks are proof of it. So actually, 5 kilos isn’t too bad at all considering my lazy ass does no exercise at all.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m not excusing my laziness. Far from it, actually. The number on that scale has forced me to sit down and REALLY think about what I can do (laziness considered) to be even just a little bit less sedentary. And I’ve decided to walk to work a few days a week. Now I do not know how long I’ll keep this up for, but we have to start somewhere. So when you see me, remember to ask, “Did you walk to work this week?”
I need to be held accountable. We all know there’s a whole lot of sexy hiding behind all those pizzas I can’t stop eating. In fact, I’m not sure you guys are ready for my not-lazy body.
So feel free to send me “ Did you walk to work?” text messages tomorrow. I promise I’ll be nice 😬
And in the meantime, for those who didn’t get my last memo, do not, and I repeat; DO NOT touch my cheeks!
Love and light to you all ❤️
Over the last few months, I’ve been forced to dig deep into my emotional stores for all that stuff I’d packed away in those boxes labelled “Danger! Never to be opened”. I’ve had some of my most difficult conversations this year and I think I just might be a better person for it.
Earlier this evening, I unpacked the contents of a particular box whose exact location I thought I’d forgotten. It started with a casual stroll down memory lane, one I didn’t even prompt. Yet before I knew it, we were jogging and then running all the way down the lane. The words were out before I could stop them. And just like that, there my truth was in its full glory! For a minute there, I wanted to take it all back. I thought of every possible way I could take back everything I’d just said. I felt almost naked and exposed. Almost, because there’s one little thing I left out. Perhaps another time, if it ever comes.
Anyway, as I sat there thinking about what I could possibly say to lighten the mood a little bit, my date said something that left me completely dumbfounded. In that moment, it occurred to me that the person I was talking to had no idea what had just happened. I could have said “look, that cow has two heads” and they still wouldn’t have told the difference. A wave of relief washed over me for a moment. But it passed just as quickly when I realised there was something horribly, terribly wrong with that picture.
I vaguely remember uttering a few unintelligible statements about how much I’d give to get rid of my emotions. But I was lying. My momentary lack of emotions is exactly why I was sorting through fossils in the first place. Who am I without my emotions? Nothing. No one. That’s who. It’s true that I’m intense. I love and hate so fiercely that even I sometimes worry for the people on the receiving end. “Somehow” has never quite been my style. Not for lack of trying, though. I just always land on the extreme end of the scale. Always.
Anyway, at the end of it all, I packed up my little box and put it on the shelf because now that the cat was out of the bag, there was no need to bury it out in the field anymore. Who knows, maybe one day it will all make sense…
Love. Living with the vulnerability of giving someone access to the insides of your most delicate yet most vital organ. The heart. Opening yourself up to a world of emotion, good AND bad. A rollercoaster; a perfect blend of yellows and grays and highs and lows.
Wanting to shower this person with what little or what much you can, not for a moment holding back because they deserve it. At least you think they do. But the question is; where do you draw the line? How much will you give before this person gets comfortable in his/her “throne” of love and security, often forgetting to pull you up with them? And what happens when they do? (Okay we both know the answer to that. You eventually tire of being taken for granted etc). What happened to doing unto others as you’d have them do unto you?
Shall we conclude that the 2013 being doesn’t have the capacity (both moral and mental) to withstand love in its purest and most unrefined state; that you shouldn’t expose the depth of your emotions to your ‘significant other’ for fear that this might be your undoing-the beginning of the end?
What rubbish! Why let love be defined by what the other party can or can’t handle? It’s a choice we make and if they want to leave then let them leave. If we have to alter ourselves to fit someone else’s requirements, how is that love? Simple: it isn’t. The beauty of being unconventional and loved for it? That’s the love I want. The world can keep its “I love you but I’d love you more if…”. Don’t love me more! In fact, as a bonus, take the first instalment too. Add it to your ‘more’ and see if I’ll die.