What was lost now is found

I can't honestly believe I've been MIA since May. Almost 4 months. Seriously, how did that happen? What is perhaps more shocking is that I have found the time to post on Dinner with Julie every single night since then, and every night before then. Maybe it's more of a time-sucker than I give it credit for. Then again, it's a good example of what you can achieve when you make up your mind to. I decided from the outset that the daily postings were non-negotiable, and so I just do them without question, just like I used to go to the gym every day, rather than struggle with if and when.

Or maybe it's just easier to write about food than about how much I weigh. I haven't felt much like anyone's cheering section lately, let alone my own, and you know what they say about not having anything good to say.

It's not really that bad. I've just been tired and comfortable and complacent and lazy. (It's the closest I can come to a real vacation.) I actually have over half a dozen partially written posts in my drafts folder; unfinished thoughts and incomplete updates that never really got finished, along with three quarters of my summer to-do list. The entire season drifted by somehow; although I can't believe it's a week into September, July seems like forever ago.

I went to the gym in spurts here and there, losing a few pounds at a time, which I'm fairly certain I've since found. I mostly hung out on the elliptical trainer and went to a few classes, but have yet to find the full-on motivation it takes to sufficiently throw myself into it. (I'd better look fast before my gym membership runs out in February!)

There comes a point in every decision-making process, particularly the big, life-altering ones but I suppose just as often the small, seemingly insignificant ones, when the question arises; when is enough enough? And just as often it's a small, seemingly minor incident that tips the scales in a new direction, making it harder not to do anything than it is to do something. In fact, this attempt to take a break from worry about weight and fat and clothes and calories, a vacation from the mindset I've had since I can remember, is an illusion itself. I don't want to feel as if I'm cultivating excuses, or come across as one of those people who blames her extra pounds on work, her kids, her thyroid condition, her ancestors. The truth is, there's always something. It's called Life. In a world focused on self-improvement, where we are all expected to live our best lives and constantly make ourselves over and never ever believe there is no room for an upgrade, where we admire success stories and expose our dark underbellies under the premise that we will quickly fix them, it's difficult to relax and just live in the now, happy with what we are and what we have, cellulite and all. At the end of my life I don't want to look back over unsatisfied decades spent on a quest for self-improvement. I don't want to gauge my self-worth on how many miles I ran or ice cream cones I turned down in favour of fresh vegetables, or lose mental health points for the opposite.

At the same time, I want to feel and be healthy. I think the resistance is more to the feeling of societal obligation.

That, and I really really like cupcakes and cheese and chocolate chip cookie dough.