Long overdue

For the last 18 years, I've made a living as a writer, in some form or fashion. 

Not because I'm an exceptionally good writer. Or because it was what I've always wanted to do. But because I really have never taken time to fully ask myself, "What is it that I really want to do?"  Had I asked that question years ago, and honestly sought the answer, I'm not quite sure what I would have discovered. And it may very well have been something similar to what I'm currently doing. But it doesn't matter. For better or for worse, this is the path I'm on, and while I don't completely suck at it, I'm not yet the best I could be.

I do enjoy writing. When I'm not under pressure to perform. Or crank out the perfect headline. But pleasure writing, and many other areas of my life, have taken a back burner to the demands and expectations on my daily plate. And unfortunately, it's starting to affect my health.

I think this blog is going to be therapeutic for me in more ways than one. 

1. At the core, it's going to be way for me to release the minutia of crap that's in my head. 
2. It's going to challenge me to write, and write and write . . . and get comfortable writing. And expressing, and exploring different and creative ways to use words. It better. That's what I'm getting paid big bucks to do.
3. It will be a place that I define my goals, hold myself accountable for my shortcomings and failures. And hopefully see my progress as I slowly begin to move forward.
4. If it leads to me to other types of writing, all the better. There are some aspects of my life that I need to dig into . . and revive . . and once before, this was something I thoroughly enjoyed doing. And I've got the perfect spouse to share this with.That, by the way, is definitely one of my goals.
5. I may use this blog as a place to pray, or express my gratitude, fears and desires. Because right now, I haven't done the best job of reading my Bible or practicing quiet time. But this blog also will serve as a place for reflection in that regard. 
6. This will be a place I can ramble on and on, if need be, and not worry that what I'm saying is too wordy or clunky or cumbersome or confusing. Who the hell am I trying to impress?
7. Maybe, just maybe, this will be one of the things that will help my eye stop twitching. Cause after four weeks, it's getting pretty old.

There are so many things I need to re-evaluate and take stock of in my life. Bringing back my love of writing is just one of those things. And I have to admit, in the last few minutes since I've started this blog and begun this first post, I already feel 10 times better. I can't believe how fast these words are flying onto the page.

Right now, I'm more relaxed than I've been in a long time. Maybe it's the fact that I'm two glass into a bottle of Pinot Grigio. And I'm sitting in a gorgeous hotel on our private balcony watching a rainstorm in Orlando -- which has caused the temperature to drop to a pleasant, who knows what . . but pleasant. And I've got no where to be and nothing to do, and the rest of the night to do whatever I want or nothing at all.

And now that I've taken the initiative to start this, I can't believe I've waited so long.

There are several things I've been meaning to do for years. Write for pleasure. Lose 10 pounds (although now, it's 15 pounds, 'cause I've been slacking). But today was the last straw. After trying on clothes (my OWN clothes!) . . my summer t shirts and shorts, that should be the most comfortable "who gives a shit what I look like" relaxed-wear I own, I couldn't find anything in my suitcase that didn't make me feel or look like a mom who's completely given up. After taking selfies with my daughter, whom I adore, I hated that I hated every picture of me. Because clearly what I look like in my head is 180 degrees different from what I actually look like to everyone else. 

Two days ago, stressed about money, I almost picked up the phone to call the gym and cancel my membership. Since I haven't gone since I joined, and I'm throwing $29 away every month. But instead, today I called and made an appointment with a personal trainer. 

For the last few years, I've been telling myself I know what I need to do. I even know how to do it. And that very well may be true. But knowing what to do and having the motivation and discipline to do are two very different things.

I'm going to be 45 soon. And I'm embarrassed and ashamed that I'm in such horrible shape. And I'm got no one to blame but myself. I look at some of my friends who struggle with their weight, and for a long time, I didn't classify myself in their camp. But I'm two years away from being there. I fight it every day by watching what I eat. But because I don't have an active lifestyle . . my Fitbit verifies that . . . it only ensures that the pounds get added a little bit more slowly than if I totally said f&ck it and just let them come. 

I have to say, I love that my husband has been so supportive. And that he's not like my dad, pointing fingers and telling me what I should and shouldn't eat. I love that he's still attracted to me, in all my pudginess. But I want to look hot for him. I want to make him lose his freaking mind thinking about getting me undressed. And trust me, I'm going to make it happen. 

Thank you, blog. I feel amazing right now.

And believe it or not, my eye isn't currently twitching.