The elephant in the room

There's an old saying that goes, "How do you eat an elephant? One bite at a time." It's supposed to be good advice for conquering a large task, but what if your issue is that you never did have a problem eating the whole darn elephant in the first place???

I think it's still the same solution, "one bite at a time," but with far fewer bites. I would love to tell you that since the start of this project I can walk by the cookie isle without a second glance, and that the thought of adding sour cream to my burrito fills me with new-found horror. We're not quite there yet. I think I am able to keep Ben & Jerry off my favorites list for now, but I have grazed at the pastures of Pepperidge Farm a few times. I just try to get off the feed bag sooner each time.

I am still going to the gym, though this week was a bust. School started, and followed the historical pattern of derailing my whole life. But I am still trotting behind the wagon with the intention of catching back up to it this next week. I will find the time. I don't know how much fat I have lost, but I have found some new muscles, so there is a bit of hope in that.

This is not so much a goal with an ending destination, for me it's more of a way to enjoy the ride wherever I end up going. Much of my relationship with food has been about trying not to see/hear/feel things that I didn't want to acknowledge; my work now is to set down my fork so that my gaze can go beyond my plate. One bite at a time, I will get there. Maybe then I won't need to eat a whole elephant to feel full.

SWF ISO better half.

Breaking up is hard to do. I am not sure at what point the average person comes to learn this, I am only sure that by adulthood, the majority of us do. And hard as it is, we know that in all likelihood, there will come a time that we will do it again, making love always a bit bittersweet. My time is now. Even though I have done this so many times before that it feels too high to count, I am ready to do it again. Beneath the sadness there is the slight tug of exhilaration; with every ending there is a perceived beginning, and I am anticipating the start even as I mourn the end.

I am not alone; newspapers are full of hopeful people and their abbreviated criteria for a future that is significantly different than the past. Though every age, color and creed is represented in the personals section, the language of search is universal. SWF ISO . . . . “single white female in search of . . . .” anything or anyone could fill in that blank.

But I will not be placing an ad after this break up. I am not in search of a new mate, having found one I would like to keep. Where is the break then? I am breaking up with me. I am separating from the me who is a saboteur, the person who quietly stabs me in the back just as I reach for the prize. I am packing up the belongings of the person who does not respect my tomorrows, and squanders the promise of future dreams for today’s gratification. I am forwarding the mail for the person who turns to food as a drug, instead of coping with problems, leaving me weighted down and stuck. I am leaving the me I have been for a very long time now. I am hoping that I will not miss her for long.