Last night, as we were taking a neighborhood stroll after dinner, my husband talked about something he did on Wednesday morning. I answered, “you mean, yesterday?”

Time has taken on a different quality over the last few weeks. March seemed like the longest decade ever. For the first few days after declaring COVID-19 a pandemic, just a few short weeks ago, I felt an overwhelming dread before going to sleep each night: what would the morning bring? I feared the news of each morning, and since then, I’ve found myself needing not just social distance, but mental distance. I’ve drawn away from the onslaught of unfiltered news, choosing instead to focus my attention.

In a world that seems to be changing by the moment, I’ve had to find my own bearings, my new normal. We all have. I’ve felt short-circuited, somewhat, not feeling like I’ve been able to look forward, but I’ve come to realize that’s wrong. I have to look forward.

Life goes on, regardless of this pandemic. Birds still build nests for their young in the trees outside my door. Flowers still bloom. Nature marches forward toward summer days, despite the events that seemingly drag time down. There is still beauty in this world worth embracing; spending moments appreciating the good is never time wasted.

As I listen to this morning’s gentle rainfall through the open window in my living room, I know without a doubt that there are vegetables I need to plant when the rain stops. The grass will still grow — and need mowing. Unfortunately, pollen will still relentlessly attack my sinuses. There’s still work to be done, domestic duties surely don’t do themselves, and seasonal tasks that remind me warm weather is just around the corner.

With all the bad news smacking me in the face each time I allow it in, I have to remember the good. Carrying good with me is as important a defense against the horrors of the day as protection against illness. As I unpack my spring clothing and wash it for coming warm weather, I do it with the faith that the seasons will continue to change. When I sit down to sew a face mask, I am grateful for the skills I learned as a child and how that skill now serves me in this moment.

I’m thankful, too, for the small things we’ve done recently that have made this time easier to bear. For the ability to connect with friends and family electronically. For the strength to rise to challenges that would have mentally sideswiped me years ago. Even the simple acts of cleaning a side bedroom that had succumbed to being used for storage, not knowing my teacher husband would end up needing the space for teaching his students from home.

Even though my weight loss seems to be on hold, I also have faith that I’ll keep rolling with the punches; the habits I’ve formed over recent years are keeping me from totally forsaking my efforts. I’ve seen a fair amount of discussion online saying that people shouldn’t be worried about such things right now, and perhaps that’s true to a point. For me, though, reminding myself of where I’ve been and continuing to embrace those habits in tough times isn’t just about what I choose to put in my mouth; it’s keeping the faith that sooner or later, the issues that face us today will be behind us, and perhaps some of the skills and changes we’ve used in these moments will improve our lives.

Let’s keep walking in our neighborhoods and greeting our neighbors even after the need for social distance has passed. Let’s keep contributing to the greater good, even after sewing masks at home is no longer necessary; we should be looking for those opportunities all the time. Let’s keep embracing the discipline of working from home and appreciating our immediate surroundings. There’s good to be had if we look for it, as well as the good of looking beyond this time. Today is mine, and I have the choice of making it matter.

When I have been in the depths of depression, I used to spend all day long in bed, sleeping, and then spend half the night on the computer. Mostly, I wrote, but it was bad stuff; under the guise of writing books, I spewed nonsense, chain-smoked, and merely existed. During the day, if I rose from bed at all, it was to take care of the necessities of the bathroom, the occasional shower, food. My home was a disaster of stacks of unwashed clothes and dishes. I have worked from home for decades, with the rare venture out to regular employment when my business has not been productive, so it was painfully easy to sink into the dark and close my brain off from every possible thing.

Depression set me adrift with no rudder and nowhere to go, or so I thought, despite having a family and my work; I could pull out spurts of work to see me through. (Depression can cloud your perspective; I had a much better life than I thought, but it was impossible for me to see it.) I could be functional if I tried. But outside of faking my way through obligations, I had no structure, no real goals. My mind created dire consequences if I would not act on the things that needed to be done, but I was so overwhelmed by the things I had neglected that I couldn’t bear to even make the smallest of starts.

That has been decades ago; since then, I’ve recognized that not only was I dealing with undiagnosed health issues that needed to be addressed (severe thyroid issues, metabolic syndrome for examples), but I have to make the conscious effort to pick myself up when I see the signs of depression creeping in around the edges. My depression was chemically based, but situational depression can certainly knock me for a loop.

I am careful to keep goals in mind, not just for work projects and the like, but personal things that bring me joy. These days, I am a goal-oriented person, down to even setting timers throughout the day for what I want to accomplish. I need structure, goals, things to look forward to, keeping motivation. When I have a balance of the things that build me up, I can meet most situations head-on.

Over recent years, that structure of goals has not only been my focus but the underpinning on which I’ve built much of my newer abilities to deal with much of my life challenges. And I admit that as my world drastically changed with the COVID-19 pandemic (just like yours!), as my husband came home to work, as we canceled one event after another or had them canceled for us, I felt the underpinning sag and the foundation crack. I found myself wanting to shift gears and move forward, but to what? I needed goals. For a bit, I felt like I’ve been stuck in neutral and unable to push myself to find new goals.

It’s yet another facet I’ve had to learn about myself, and I suppose that if such major events had to happen in my life, I am at least thankful that it happened when the structure of my life could bear a bit of pummeling. Had it happened years ago, when my mental foundation was shakier than a house of cards, I don’t know that I would have had the ability to battle the assault on my mental state.

I have been working, now, on setting goals which I control, rather than the outside world. Since I have been on this journey, I initially took on goals that were entirely up to me, since I had to venture small steps. As I’ve become stronger, I have become more involved in broadening my world, and as a result, the goals I’ve set have become reliant on outside factors. As an example, I started to play horn again several years back, but to fully experience music, I joined an orchestra. Now, the orchestra has had to cancel the spring semester and concert. Necessary, but since my goals shifted from my own personal enjoyment toward being part of the overall group, I suddenly had no practice goals, and I had to push myself to play again.

Other goals included spring break activities including listening to live music and local travel, but those quickly vanished. My walking and weight loss goals are their own reward, but I had mentally pushed myself, planning for these events that are no longer there. I may have started walking around my yard, in the beginning, with the simple goal of being able to walk short distances and eventually no longer rely on a wheelchair or a cane, but now that I don’t deal with the same restrictions, I had looked forward to a pub crawl, hiking around, and a 5K with friends. Now the 5K has been delayed until September, the restaurants and bars are closed, and while I can still hike, it won’t be in the same places.

My goals have shifted from a self-reliance because of a small world to a partnership of reliance with an expanded world; when the partnership suddenly dissolved, it jarred me. But the choice, once I recognized this, is a simple one: I can either rebuild my structure and move forward, or let the cracks in my foundation turn to rubble. I’ve been starting simple, again, and I’m no longer stuck in neutral. Working toward simple goals has helped me find my drive.

“I can control what I put in my mouth, even if I can’t control much else that’s going on right now.”

This is the answer I gave when a cookbook author I follow on social media asked for good reasons to not go off the rails with food. This statement has been true since the very beginning of my journey, and even though these are rough times, I’ve had challenges and tests before in my life, and having something within my total control has been important during those times.

That’s really what set me on course in the beginning years ago; I felt my life was entirely outside my control, and I needed one simple thing I could do for me. Knowing that I could take control of how I feed my body, even if it didn’t result in weight loss, gave me something to anchor to. Since then, it’s expanded to include all the things that have helped me move forward.

It would be just as easy for me to stuff my face with whatever might be handy; it’s not like there aren’t such foods in my home. I know I’ve got the ingredients to make any number of things that might soothe an instant need, but in the long run, will make me gain weight and feel crappy about it. That’s the last thing I need, and I don’t really feel the pull to go off my plan at the moment. That’s not really why I’m talking about it, anyway.

It’s the control that matters, now. When everything else is unpredictable and changing by the hour, I know there are small things I still control: me. How I choose to feed my body. How I choose to spend my days, embracing routine instead of chaos. Knowing that this, too, shall pass.

We’ve been taking walks when we can; it has helped to get outside, in nature, and away from the constant stream of news. I’ve met my step goals and for the most part, I’ve stayed in control of what I eat. While I think it’s smart to know what’s going on and to react accordingly, I also control the amount of information I subject myself to, and I’ve learned to recognize when I’m getting overwhelmed and I step away. Taking walks and looking for the good in the world has helped keep me focused.

I have been keeping the things that feed my soul, as well; although I’m very involved in orchestra, we have opted to discontinue the rest of this season, my top reason to play is for myself. I’m taking some of this time to work on my skills. I’ve been reading a lot, as well.

I’ve been maintaining and doing the things I know are within my control while I deal with the same things all of us are: uncertainty, drastic change in how we live, a ton of canceled plans. While canceling our spring break plans bothered me greatly, it was partly because I had created goals around the trip; we can always reschedule when the world settles down a bit, but it’s the loss of goals that left me feeling shocked. I still am thinking about ways to realign my goals; things I can be doing to move forward and finally get to the pinnacle this entire journey has been moving me toward.

Control of my own life is my anchor against the inevitable storms of life, and the stronger and more control I am, the less likely the tough storms will do damage. The storm will pass; I will walk on.

I got out and walked first thing this morning. Just a mile, not my usual two; rain is moving in.

When I usually walk in the mornings, my neighborhood is bustling with people leaving for work, kids heading to school. Other people out walking or running. Dogs barking.

Not this morning. My little neighborhood was like a ghost town; not even dogs were barking. It was quiet; a soft sprinkle of rain and some birdsong, spring frogs singing. I was nearly done with my mile before I saw any signs of life.

My county is one of four where, starting today, schools are out until March 30, because of presumptive positive COVID-19 in our area. I was in Wal-Mart when the announcement came out; the governor gave the details, and people immediately hit the local stores, cleaning out paper goods, cleaning supplies, and food.

People are scared. I understand that; I’ve been approaching this as level-headed as I can, trying to moderate between the extremes, but I admit I had to fight down panic yesterday as I made my way through the store, hoping I could just get the things I was there for. I did shift my plans a bit, deciding to buy some of our usual staples so we wouldn’t have to go back for a few days. When I got home, my internet went out, and that’s when I really had to swallow panic.

The way through this is to follow the advice laid out from experts, but for my own mental wellbeing, I also have to look for the good in this situation. The good is that I have reduced my risks; not only by following the advice regarding cleaning myself and my environment but because I took unknowing steps years ago that serve to lower my risk today. Had I not opted to lose weight, I would surely be a diabetic by now, and while I am still on a low dose of blood pressure medication, continuing at my previous weight would have certainly increased the likelihood of heart disease.

As a morbidly obese adult, I had a rough time getting over even the smallest sickness. These days, I am healthy and I don’t find that to be the case at all. I am better prepared for whatever comes my way, which will more than likely be in the position of caregiver than one requiring care.

I hope that we remain healthy in the months to come, but I am far better equipped to meet any challenges that do arise. It’s a reinforcement to keep pushing hard for my own health at a time when it would be incredibly easy to sequester myself and let the mental demons in. I will not give up. I will remain strong because it matters; it’s times like now where all the work I’ve done pays off the most. I’m glad I took the chance; it’s never too late to keep taking that chance.

The weather has been warming up. I love it because I can get out and walk around my neighborhood, as well as other places; I love being outside for exercise or just for the heck of it, and this week has been a good one for that.

In fact, on Monday evening, I already had my step goal done for the day, but after walking the dog, I asked my husband why on earth we weren’t out walking the neighborhood for a nice stroll after dinner. He agreed; a few minutes later, we headed out the door for a lazy turn around the block.

We got no further than around the corner from our house when we passed a neighbor’s lovely backyard area; we always admire it because she’s done such a lovely job designing an outside area. Frogs were singing — but that’s not what my husband heard; he took off toward the neighbor’s outside seating area, and then I heard it — groans of pain. I followed him; we found our elderly neighbor on the ground, holding her head. She was awake and could answer questions, but was obviously in distress, so we made the quick decision to call 911.

We stayed with her while the paramedics worked with her, finally making the decision that she should go to the hospital to be checked over, since she had tripped on a carpet and hit her head on the concrete, as well as landing on a shoulder that had recently been through surgery. The good news is that she was able to return home later that night and is fine.

I’m not sure what little nudge pushed us out the door, but I’m a big believer in trusting instincts. Sometimes, you don’t even know, though, that you’re being nudged.

It’s situations like this — the sudden choices we have to make — that teach us how far we’ve come. For so many years, I had a deep fear of falling; I even mentioned it in the first post I made in this journey, quoted at the beginning of last week’s blog. I knew, without a doubt, that any time I fell, I could do serious damage; an extended arm to break a fall could result in a broken arm or worse. The force of a nearly 400-pound body on any body part could stress, break, or shatter it.

I spent a large amount of time, back then, playing “what if” — what if I fall, what should I do? I had to plan so much of my life in advance that it became second nature. How far is it from the parking lot to the front door? Is there a place to sit and rest? Are there stairs? If so, how many? What do I do if the restaurant is crowded and I can’t squeeze between the backs of chairs to get in or out? What if the only seating they have is bar stools?

As I’ve lost weight and replaced important body parts, I’ve lost nearly all of that situational anxiety — but I instantly felt it for my neighbor, seeing areas that, while beautiful to the eye, were trip hazards. And my mind filled in the “what if” — what if we hadn’t gone on that walk? If we, or someone else, hadn’t found her and helped her? Would she have just eventually gotten up and gone inside, and been okay — or not?

It appears she’ll make a full recovery, and may never have needed our assistance except to help her up, but the what if could have gone in the other direction, too. We would have felt horrible if she had not gone to the hospital and actually had a brain bleed or concussion.

We all live with certain assumed risks from the moment we roll out of bed in the morning. Sometimes we know what the risks are and accept them; sometimes we are unaware of the risks we take with choices and actions. I’d rather we lean on each other than fall alone.

It’s Labor Day, 2013 (September 2) — the day before I start a weight loss program. It’s a food blowout day; my husband and I set it up to have one last big meal before the beginning, tomorrow.

This is probably no different a statement than many would make on the eve of (yet another?) diet, but my sincere hope is that it’ll be the last effort I have to make, because this one will be successful. I have struggled so much with my weight, my entire life, that it’s hard for me to think positively; every single effort has failed.

Every single one.

Sure, I’ve lost weight, and I’ve gone a long way toward regaining health. At one point, I shed 140.5 pounds — but then piled it all on back. It’s difficult for me to get locked into a positive mindset because what I’ve known, in the past, is failure.

I’m 51, looking down the barrel at 52 (next month, in fact); I am horribly tired of living this way, and for whatever time I have left in my life, I want the ability to live it fully. I’m not doing that right now. At well over 300 pounds (I’ll find out the exact number tomorrow morning, when I weigh in [I later weighed in at 371 pounds]), I’m extremely limited in what I’m able to do. I have horrible joint problems, an underactive thyroid, and everything I do, without exception, is painful and takes effort. I’m tired of living this way; I have known better. I am frustrated and embarrassed about how I move, what my limitations are, what I’m forced to wear — how I feel obligated to make excuses for my shortcomings.

Don’t get me wrong. I don’t want anyone’s sympathy. What I want is to live, to deal with people without their first impressions of me being “holy crap, she’s fat!”, to not have to worry about the things that bother me on a daily (hourly!) basis, to live without fear of falling, of doing something simple that could shorten my life when it wouldn’t be tragic for a healthy 52 year old. I have a desperate time with self-acceptance; I do not like what I am, who I am, how I live.

Tomorrow, that changes.

That was 2,370 days ago; 56,880 hours (give or take a few) of more good decisions than bad ones. More success than failures. Some were huge successes, like knee replacement surgeries; some were small ones, like realizing I could tie my shoes without holding my breath. I’ve been faced with choices many times each and every day. I haven’t always made the right choices, but overall, they’ve led me to where I am in this moment — happy and thankful for having done the work.

Very few of those decisions were huge in themselves, but cumulatively, they are everything. Over 6 years down the road, not only is there a lot less of me (by more than half!), but what’s left is healthier, stronger, and in a much better mental place. Each of those steps have mattered.

Never believe for a second that they don’t.

Conversely, each small failure can snowball. Allow enough small failures and they chain together; you suddenly find yourself regretting letting those failures take over. I have been there dozens of times over the course of my lifetime.

In the long run, when facing whether I can continue on my path when frustration sets in, I try to remind myself that a year down the road, I hope I will be proud of those tiny decisions that lead to success instead of failure. When I first wrote the words above, I couldn’t see past the first few days. I wanted, more than anything, to be able to lay my head down at night, knowing I had done the best I could do with what I faced that day. All I wanted was to be proud I was actually doing something, instead of succumbing to the destructiveness of self-loathing.

I wasn’t sure at all that I’d be successful, but I knew I had to change. Taking the first step forward made all the subsequent steps possible.

This weekend, I get to volunteer at the Little Rock Marathon, again, and cheer on people of all shapes and sizes as they experience a tough test of how far they’ve come. Some are accomplished athletes; some are stragglers just hoping to finish. All of them, though, are winners for being brave enough to take one step after another and let the good of their steps accumulate. A marathon is 26.2 miles — and the stride of a woman my height is approximately 26 inches. Which means, for a 5’2” woman, around 63,847 steps from beginning to end.

63,847 tiny decisions to keep moving forward, one foot in front of the other, until the race is over.

But it starts with the very first step: the willingness to try.

This is one of those times when I really don’t know what to write about, so consider this a mini-confessional of sorts; nothing bad, just a State of Lisa Address, if you will.

I am not down to my lowest weight, yet, but I am still working on losing. The process has been a slow one; the most likely time for my body to want to fight me on releasing weight seems to be during the winter. I also tend to deal with a lot more weight-related complications, such as being able to get out and exercise, keeping my attitude bright, and focusing on where I’m going instead of where I’m at. Winter just drags me down more than normal.

It’s nothing all that special; it’s life adjustments, and perhaps that’s the beauty of it. We’ve had a number of weird little (and not so little) mishaps recently, and I’ve made an effort to stay positive about them. Prime Example: our water heater decided to retire ungracefully last Sunday evening. I had been gone for the afternoon; in the evening, my husband stepped on a damp spot just outside the utility room. I admit I blamed my dog, first. She wasn’t guilty. Shame on me!

The water heater started dripping a slow leak. After conferring with the Wizards of Google, who say there are only two types of water heater leaks, it turned out that we had the worse of the two possibilities. The leak, from the bottom, was an indicator that not only was the inner tank’s rivets likely rusting out, but they could give way completely and drench the floor and nearby walls. The best option was to turn off both the gas and the water access; we both took quick showers and crossed our fingers, and then set to turn them both off.

The gas was easy to shut off. The water, though? Not so much. We’ve lived in this house for 14 years and there hasn’t been a reason to turn off the water valve — it was firmly stuck in the open position. Ugh! We put down towels and hoped it would hold until the morning, when we called our landlord to report the issue. He sent plumbers out on Monday to replace the unit and we had hot water back on by late afternoon.

That’s the simple version; the longer version left me feeling thankful for many things.

First, we rent. While it’s an unfortunate expense for our landlord, we are happy to have a great one who is quick to respond to issues when they happen. Although he couldn’t do the job himself (and he usually can, because he’s quite capable), he was able to send out a plumber who was courteous, honest, and did a great job. It also wasn’t an unexpected expense for us, although we try to take care of the smaller things and not call our landlord unless there’s something big. (And a good thing for him that we react quickly to the big issues!)

Second, we didn’t end up with a gusher. That would have been horrible! We were also at home when it happened; the plumber talked about someone whose water heater completely gave way while they were gone on vacation and the whole house sustained significant water damage from running for so long.

Third, it happened while my husband was home for President’s Day. He didn’t have to find a place to shower before work, and I’m uncomfortable with service people in the house when I’m alone, so having him home was a bonus. I had an issue with a satellite repairman many years ago who made a pass at me, including unwanted physical contact, and I’ve not much cared for being alone with service people in the house since then.

Fourth, the same plumber took care of a minor issue I was going to call a plumber about while he was there. Time saver!

It helps to keep a positive attitude and make the effort to stay positive; not just in situations like this one, but in dealing with the challenges I face in retracing my weight loss efforts. Heck yes, it’s frustrating to lose the same weight after regaining, but there have been plenty of times when I simply gave in to the frustration and let myself just keep gaining. I have always known that the answer to breaking through to a lower weight never includes eating myself silly, but I’ve been guilty of letting emotions run the show; I’m not totally immune to that, but I’m much more in control than ever. Thank goodness!

Spring is just around the corner. I’m looking forward to doing the things I love; camping, walking outside, maybe even getting on a bike, if I can get my nerve up to do it. While the things that stand in my way frustrate me, I also know they’re temporary, and given time and effort, the bright side will shine through.

True confession: I didn’t get this blog written in a timely manner. No fun videos this morning!

As I’ve been chiseling away at the weight I gained over the holidays, I’ve been surprised by the number of hints that have shown up randomly.

Even after years of working toward my goals, I struggle. The shapes of the struggles have changed significantly over recent years, but they’re still present, reminding me that I have to consider my life as a whole rather than getting lost in one moment or one challenging day.

Yesterday, for instance; I really did not want to get in my walking step goals. It happens a lot this time of year; I love walking outside. I have great places to walk, and I can be alone with my thoughts while I enjoy my surroundings. Spring is just around the corner, and I’ll get to walk among the flowers, trees with sprouting leaves, the sounds of people out and about. On the flip side, I absolutely detest walking inside, but with cold temperatures and a rainy start to the year, my choices have been limited to walking the halls of a local rec center or driving to the gym to get on a treadmill. And friends, for me, treadmills are torture.

I dragged myself down to the rec center, put in my earbuds, and started walking. Frankly, walking hallways and gym floors while listening to music just bores the ever-lovin’ snot out of me. I feel like my brain is just passing time while my body does its thing. I had a step goal to meet and was just a couple hundred steps shy of it when one of the office workers stopped me. Inside, I cringed; my little town is just full of friendly people who want to talk, but when I’m exercising, I don’t want to gab. (Unless it’s while I’m walking; walking with friends makes the time go by quicker.)

She asked me how much weight I’d lost and we discussed diet and fitness, and then I went back to walking and finished my goals. While I was irritated at the time, though, it served as a reminder that I need to keep focusing on my own path.

This has happened several times over the last couple of weeks — as if some cosmic force is reminding me that I have goals to meet and to stick to them. Each, in their own way, has served a great purpose, regardless of how it was intended; I had to be open to the nudges, though.

A few days back, I took my mother in for physical therapy; she went to the same place a few years ago, and I came in with her a couple of times. The therapist, as we were leaving, told me that I look great and I’ve done a wonderful job. I raised my eyebrows because I figured my mother had been talking; she’s proud of my weight loss and will occasionally mention it to medical folks. I replied with thanks and said “Mom must have been talking,” but she countered with “No, I remember you!” That surprised me; it would be one thing if I were the patient, but I wasn’t, and I met her three years back. She remembered, too, that I was working toward knee surgery. It was a nice reminder that while time has passed, I’ve managed to stay true to the things I promised myself I would do.

Before that, a friend accidentally invited me to a Facebook group on weight loss, but it was surrounding a particular product. At first, it irritated me, because I have had this happen, before; I researched the product, even considered accepting the invite and then telling people they were wrong to trust the product — but in the end, canceled the invite and told the friend privately that I wish her well, but could not accept the invite. That’s when I found out that the invite was an accident. In the meantime, I was furious at yet another diet sham where distributors sell a product and claim it’ll help you lose weight, but that’s never an “official” claim of the product. I even wrote out a long, pithy blog post on it and decided against posting it; people who go that direction firmly believe that’s the answer, and if it at least gets them started on the right road, then I suppose it’s a good thing. It certainly isn’t for me; I want to fully understand my body, not look for short term payoffs.

This trend of hints started a few weeks back with a random friend request on Facebook. I vet such requests and had no clue who this person was, so I looked at her profile. The posts that were public were entirely about her selling her diet product; why wouldn’t you want to lose weight if all you have to do is take a pill? The alternating posts were about all the freedom she now has because she’s a distributor for whatever this magic pill is and how it can make other people just as happy. So I sent her a private message and asked her why she sent me a friend request; she didn’t answer.

I admit that I’ve had requests like that, before, and I don’t know whether these people think my profile pic shows I need to lose weight (I will always have chubby cheeks!) or whether they’re just throwing out a blanket of requests in hopes of selling products. I try not to take it personally but I admit I get really incensed about it at times. But then I examine why I feel that way, and it’s because I know that they have no clue what I’ve been through, that focusing on health and losing large amounts of weight is, by necessity, hard work — and they’re selling a simple solution that will only compound the problem for those who chase the false dreams they sell.

Let’s face it. If I was a dishonest person, I could sign on as a distributor for whatever the latest diet trend is, show the proof that I’ve lost just shy of 200 pounds, and deceive a lot of people into believing they could do the same — for a price. I could probably make a ton of money doing that, but I firmly believe these products are patently dishonest. And this journey, while it started on the idea of simply losing weight, has taught me that the weight loss is just a side effect of learning about myself. You can’t sell that in a pill, a shake, or a supplement; you have to learn it for yourself. And the good news is that it’s free.

All of these instances served to remind me that I need to keep pushing, keep focusing on my goals. I am back on track and have been since giving myself my own Come To Jesus after the holidays; and I’m thankful that these small things happen to reinforce for me that I’m on the right track. Soon, I’ll be back at my peak.

Yesterday morning, I drove our pickup truck down to a local business to get an oil change. It was rainy, cold, and I didn’t feel well-rested, so I wasn’t in the best of moods. Those of you that know me also know that when I’m in my best of moods, I still don’t necessarily like to strike up conversations with random people. I came to the oil change place armed with my Kindle reader so I could just quietly read until the truck was ready.

The only other person in the waiting room was a man a little older than me. He struck up a conversation with me; friendly enough, but it quickly entered into a serious discussion on how we each care for our elderly parents. We spoke about the various challenges of being a caregiver, how we deal with things, and why we do it. One of his last comments to me, though, was that he thanked me for the lovely conversation and said that he finds nice people everywhere.

As he left me there in the waiting room, it struck me that the way most people meet nice people everywhere is by being nice people, themselves. Kindness begets kindness, and that’s something I’ve needed to remember the last few days — and years, really — as I’ve watched unkindness in many forms.

A simple truth: if you want people to be kind to you, be kind, yourself. Even if they’re not kind, be kind in return; this can be the most trying response there is.

But most of all, be kind to yourself.

I don’t mean a selfish kindness. I mean a kindness that results in good things for yourself, whether it’s reducing stress, bettering your situation, health, or life. In light of this, the things we think are self-kindness are often not.

Snapping back at someone who is cruel doesn’t make the situation better, no matter how good it feels in the short term. Responding by counteracting cruelty, on the other hand, has the possibility of improving a situation. Usually, that means taking action rather than spewing words, and those actions can have longterm effects. In last week’s blog about Charlie Bravo, just yelling about horrible people who abandon dogs in crates to a certain death would have solved absolutely nothing. The action of releasing the dog and caring for her did so much more — even if the result had been tragic rather than the eventual good news it was.

Kindness is about the possibility of creating good.

In the same vein, reacting to a tough situation by buying a half-gallon of Chunky Monkey ice cream (is there such a flavor?!) and devouring it might feel like self-love in that moment, but not afterward. Not when you regret the decision or feel the consequences. No, that’s not kindness to yourself at all; it’s self-deception, and those who must commit to better health have to learn that there’s a difference between instant gratification and true self-care. One is destructive; the other pays dividends down the road, even if it’s difficult at the moment.

Some would call this ‘tough love’, but to me, it’s self-kindness to consider the consequences to my future self. The things I choose for myself in this moment have echoes down the road. It’s entirely up to me to decide if I will appreciate or regret those echoes.

One of the blogs I follow is about a rescue dog and her life since her rescue. I’m an animal lover at heart (with a few exceptions — I’m not much on the rodent world), and used to live in a place where people routinely dumped their animals. Some of those animals were extremely sick or aggressive, so of course, there was always fear when an unfamiliar dog would end up in our yard.

And then there were the animals who we were lucky enough to enjoy their second lives. I remember coming home, one day, pulling into the carport and walking up on the back porch to discover a dog laying in the seat of our Adirondack chair, making himself totally at home. He spooked me, so I tried to run him off my porch — and he wouldn’t go. Instead, he looked up at me with baleful hound eyes and a tail that thumped against the chair, almost like an “I’m sorry, but this is so comfy and I don’t want to move!”

We named him Buddy. He became a community dog, and he was the sweetest, most well-behaved stray I’d ever seen. He was so calm that I could leave meat on a gas grill side table and walk off, with him right next to it, and KNOW he wouldn’t jump up and swipe it. He waited patiently for us to feed him — and then he’d run over to a neighbor’s house who also fed him. (Dogs are always opportunists at heart!) For several years, until we moved and lost track of Buddy’s antics, he chased rabbits, cruised the nearby properties, dragged things home out of the woods, warned us of intruders, and enjoyed his newfound life. (I’ll add that we lived in the country and everyone approved of Buddy. We also all had different names for him.)

Before Buddy, there was Sam. I caught sight of her in my Rose of Sharon bushes; a beautiful long hair cat with Siamese markings. I put out food for her to draw her out, but she refused to come to me. And then, one day as she was retreating into the bushes to hide, I managed to touch the end of her tail. And at that moment, it was ON. She turned around immediately, meowed an inquiring “what?”, and came to me, brushing up against my extended hand.

Sam (short for Samantha) became my mother’s cat and lived the rest of her long life being spoiled rotten and loved. She was sweet, healthy, affectionate, and the kind of cat that wouldn’t challenge you for your food; she would only eat cat food. (If you’ve ever been a cat owner, you know how rare that is!)

Which brings us to the blog I mentioned — Charlie Bravo – The Motorcycle Rescue Dog Story (You can also follow Charlie at this Facebook link). It’s worth your time to read, but be forewarned: it’s an emotional journey. Briefly, a father/son team of motorcyclists found a stray dog, left to die in a dog crate along a road not too awfully far from here. The dog was skin and bones and had tried to chew her way out of the crate. There is a happy ending, and the message I received was clear: we all have cages, often of our own making.

What can happen for you if you release yourself from your own cage?

I am — and have — been a cage-builder. My own father built my first cage, but even after I managed to break myself out of it, I built my own. I try to remain conscious of telling myself “I can’t do that”. Limiting myself is how I trapped myself in the first place, but sometimes remaining trapped seems safe because it’s the devil we know. I know regaining the previous 140 pounds I lost was much about embracing the safety I thought it gave me.

A cage? A wall, as I spoke of last week? We imagine those boundaries protect us, but it’s only our insecurities that lead us to believe that. Choosing to live without limits can be one of the most daunting tasks of all, but like all of the examples above, second lives can be the best lives. While those animals were forced into second lives that they didn’t choose, we as humans have a choice to uncage ourselves.

When I first took on the idea of losing weight, again, I didn’t think I could do it. I had to show myself I was capable and step out of the cage I’d built by hiding behind my own fat; it became a convenient excuse and then a debilitating reason to insulate myself against the world. I excluded myself on purpose and told myself all the things that I could be or do if only I wasn’t so fat; but when yearning for that imaginary world I’d built that would only be mine if I were thin, I refused to step beyond what was comfortable.

I also hear it all the time from other people; they may ask me what I’ve done to lose weight, and their reactions of “oh, I could never do that!” show me, more than anything, the cages they’ve become comfortable with. We’re capable of so much more than we give ourselves credit for; I learn this about myself every day. After all, no one has to do the same things I’ve done in order to be successful, but they do have to put in the effort — break out of the cages they’ve built — and consider taking the risks.