Any Arby’s or Horsey Sauce with That?
2/4/19
There’s a reason I’m overweight. I like to eat. I also like to drink. The more I drink the more I want to eat until I become so bloated you could bounce a basketball off my belly and I can’t bend over to tie my own shoes.
Today I woke up questioning myself (again), because that’s what I do when I wake up and repeat the same behaviors that got me here in the first place, then berated myself because everything I wrote read like actual crap smeared on a page. I was failing at life. Failing my body one dinner roll—and my heart one poorly-chosen word—at a time. I’ve been doing this for years. Will it ever end?
After cranking out a self-piteous post about my shortcomings—that may or may not ever see the light of day—I slunk into a gray sweat suit, which matched my mood and the weather, and set out to run errands.
Ensuing dilemma
But wait—what about lunch? I’ll be hungry soon. There are cups of soup in my desk at work. I could have one when I stop there.
Hold the phones.
I have to drive right by Arby’s to get on the highway. I could sneak in a junior roast beef without anyone noticing. Yes, I think I’ll do that. One little sandwich won’t hurt the wallet or my waistline…
Well, since I’m getting a sandwich and I haven’t been there in a while, fries and a Dr. Pepper would really hit the spot. I could scarf it down in my car before I even get to the office. My health-conscious boss will never know. And if I throw the trash away in the dumpster instead of in the house, my husband won’t either. It’s perfect! It’s—
An addiction.
It’s also the actual conflict and inner dialogue that runs through my head every day. What I want versus what is right. What I should do (cup of soup), a proposed compromise (the junior roast beef), and the inevitable collapse (the classic roast beef value meal with fries and a Dr. Pepper). I am ALL, never nothing, and I can’t even meet my better-self halfway.
The worst, most desperate days often clear the way for truly illuminating nights. Today was no exception. In one of several micro-meditation/cry sessions I begged the powers that be to tell me what I’m missing.
What did I still need to learn or see or feel to make it click? What crucial piece of evidence still eluded me, or what “ah-ha” moment was waiting in the wings for me stumble over it to finally make my heart stronger than food’s allure? For my soul’s yearnings to triumph over addiction? WHAT was the missing link between thought and action?
JUST TELL ME WHAT I NEED TO KNOW TO STOP THIS MADNESS.
Later, after errands, Arby’s, and the ensuing guilt, I made my way back to the keyboard, unsatisfied with the day’s words, and found myself clicking away about Joe Dispenza. Then it hit me:
“The quantum field responds not to what we want; it responds to who we are being.”
It doesn’t matter what we want; it matters who we’re being.
Or, another way, we don’t get what we want; we get who we are.
Well, crap. So, who have I been today?