Well, here we are again. In my last post I wrote about how Fall represents a new beginning for a lot of people – myself included. However, what I failed to mention is that everyday is a new beginning for me. And I don’t mean that in the “Everyday is the first day of the rest of your life”-glass half-full kind of way. I mean it in the sense that everyday is a new beginning because I can’t manage to follow through with what I’ve committed to doing yesterday. Does that make sense?
For example, everyday I tell myself that I’m going to stop drinking soda. But by 1pm, I’m sucking down my second Diet Coke and looking through my bag for change so I can hit the vending machine one more time before 5pm.
June was supposed to be the start of a new life – I’d snagged an awesome new job, I was mentally preparing myself for the beach boot camp sessions I had purchased, and I was working on making the time to sit down and write my book. July came, then August…and yet here I sit, in September. I am neither thinner nor am I close to writing the last chapter of my novel. I am, however, hard at work at a job I can honestly say I love.
So what happened? I’d like to say that life happened. But the truth is, I didn’t make enough happen. I didn’t eat right. I didn’t dedicate myself to scribbling down ten pages a day. I just made work my excuse for all the things I didn’t do. Sure I showed up to work out, but did I really push myself? No. Did I force myself to write until my fingers cried out for mercy? No…but I did watch the entire series of 30 Rock.
Some people say this makes me a failure. Those people are right.
I want to sit here and tell you that I’m starting over and doing what I need to do…I want to tell you things are going to be different this time around. I want a cheeseburger…