Last weekend, I turned 55 years old, and had one heck of a great time with friends.

I knew I’d be taking the weekend off and the consequences of doing so — no weight loss this week, but the experiences from last weekend were absolutely worth it. I had a glimpse of what it’s like to live with fewer restrictions, and it reminded me of what sheer joy there is in simply living.

My age is a legal speed limit, now, but I’d rather not think about it.

Watching what you eat can become a dangerous game, an obsession that can evolve into something just as unhealthy as the opposite. This is part of the reason why I occasionally take diet holidays and restrict my food less, but I’m also careful to do it when I know I won’t lose heart. Last week, that was actually a riskier move than normal, because my head hasn’t been in a great place, but the experience itself was enough to reinforce my resolve.

Sure, I had some things that I wouldn’t normally eat, but rather than making the weekend about food, I was able to take the emphasis off food. My “cheat” weekends, if you want to call them that (is it a cheat if you plan it?), aren’t opportunities to stuff my face; they’re chances to eat reasonably, make good choices, and let food drop into the background.

I had a great time, hanging out with friends and family, dancing to music in a hotel parking lot, playing Baggo, adventuring around the area wineries, and more. This time was easier than last year, when I still walked with a cane; while I’m not running any races yet, each year brings improvement. I do more things, I don’t tire as easily, I get to participate on a more active level. I’m not as afraid of the camera. And even more telling: when I was in the process of stepping up on a tram to take a vineyard tour, a complete stranger offered me his hand in assistance. (That didn’t happen when I was at my heaviest.) I still had to give my knees plenty of rest time, but at no time did I feel like I was stranded by my own body.

These sorts of successes are my incentive for not getting lost in feeling sorry for myself that my life is not like the lives of others. I could, if I wanted, wallow in the things that make life harder for me, from my health to my abilities to my body’s reaction to food. Admittedly, it’s a battle for many — sometimes me, included — to keep the rewards in mind and push down the desire to throw it all away, not look back, and end up right where I was when I started this journey.

I firmly believe that change is always possible, and I’m learning that the more I change, the easier it is to keep moving on down the highway and make these great changes permanent.