I’m at my best when I’m cooking. By this I don’t mean that I’m the best cook; I am just the best version of myself when I’ve got a knife in my hand and a pan over a fire. There are few things in life that keep you focused as searing heat and a very sharp blade.
I think part of the reason why it’s so hard for me to diet is because I just love food so much, and I like to cook. There are millions of people across this world who feel as passionately — if not more passionately — than I do about food yet can remain slim and can moderate what they eat. To those people I say, without a single trace of irony and from the bottom of my heart, Good for you. I’ll never be one of you.
That’s all right, though. I am used to not being a part of things. I’ll just have to figure out how to do this my own way.
My own way, something I’m still sussing out, will have to include some sort of contingency plan because my downfall is always me. I’ll have a bad day, or a good day, or a bored day, and the remedy is always going to be food-based. And — let’s be serious — the food is likely going to be butter- or sugar-based. (An apple isn’t going to cut it, unless it’s floating amongst other fruit in a tumbler of white wine sangria.) Then, once I fail, I have a hard time getting back to making smart, healthy choices. I become lost in the woods of full-fat milk and a never-ending chain of garlic bagels and sneakily-purchased barbecue potato chips and raw cookie dough quietly eaten while my dog and husband sleep upstairs.
Something I need to remember: only I can do this for myself. If I lose track of myself, I can find my way back.
Something else I need to remember: I’m working towards an intangible goal. It’s hard to visualize what a healthy body looks and feels like when your mind —your thriving, boundless, wild mind — lives deep within layers of underutilized, settled and slumped-over mush.
Here’s to looking ahead, keeping a mind open to success and failure, and moving on from both.