You are what you do everyday.
By that definition, I’m a recovering caffeine addict with sucrose issues who sees the inside of a gymnasium once every quarter. I also have a wakeup routine that involves a daily head-rush because the jump out of bed looks more like dash out the door to meet the way-beyond-grace-period start time. Also, off late, looking down or sideways in the mirror has meant holding my breath to keep the food baby out of sight and out of mind. And the same book has been spending too much time in my bag.
Honestly, I’ve had enough (or maybe it’s one of those weekend-is-approaching-so-let’s-make-promises-to-turn-my-life-around type of things that won’t last). It does feel different this time though. For one, I am going to blog shame myself (even if there’s two people with 1.7 second attention spans reading). Second, there’s a trial period of 27 days (countdown to the start of a trip sounds about right). Third, I started today, a Thursday, which seems to be a good day for being born, starting to date, getting married, going into labour and other life changing things. Fourth, as someone who turned vegetarian one midnight and stayed that way for seven years (until the calf I was carrying made me crave flesh again), I have prior experience in sticking to will-powered plans.
Why all this need to shake things up you ask? Well, it feels like the days are meeting nights sooner than I can down a drink and they must be slowed down and absorbed and enjoyed and caught in many a breath. And there is the hope that during this shaking up, things will fall apart to eventually assemble into semi-neat patterns (who am I kidding, when has that ever happened).
But if life is a sum of days lived and if I have to make the days count for something and make them come together mostly nicely, well then there have to be rules.
Rule 1: Wake up early enough to stretch and smile.
Rule 2: Workout baby workout, atleast 30 minutes everyday.
Rule 3: Ditch processed s*** . Yes, cashew biscuits, we’re through (until further notice). Also you red meat. You’re bad news.
Rule 4: Dial down (or preferably dial out) the sugar darling.
Rule 5: The being-off-coffee-that-gave-you-jitters routine you’ve been practicing, well stick with it. No naked bean dreams, no midnight sniffing cravings. Just no, okay.
Rule 6: Read and write something that’s not an email, a report, a newspaper article. Alice Munro, Proust (again), that short story you almost wrote. Stick to the page and do do do.
Rule 7: Relax.
Rule 8: Hug more. That trick never gets old.
Rule 9: If you can’t keep at it, quit by all means but remember YOU blew it. Not Trump, your partner or the guy at the cupcake counter. It was all YOU.
Now armed with these guiding principles I set forth for 27 days of discipline and self-discovery, hoping to come out of it without a mid-milestone meltdown. I shall report from the front regularly (let’s not say daily, though that’s the dream).
Wish me luck and stay glued (ocularly not olfactorily).