Baby Steps

Work it out. Take it one step at a time. We don’t always get what we want, when we want it. Stop freaking out. Try again…

These are things I say to my five-year-old a lot. Like, multiple times a day, sometimes an hour. And often when I am huffing the words at him, I am huffing them at myself. I am acknowledging how hard it is to ever remember those immoveable truths.

Recently I started working out again. My relationship with exercise is comparable to non-exclusive dating. We see each other when we see each other. Maybe we text winky emojis or question marks when we’ve gone too long without physical contact. But we’re not possessive. We’re not committed. And a lot of it is my fault. I never want to bite the bullet. To hunker down and do the real work to get to know exercise. I like to keep my options open for laziness, or busyness, or “not feeling it today”.

A few weeks ago I was pretty low on myself. Grappling with my state of ALMOST in every area of my life, examining my complete and utter Coming Soon status. I am the summer feature that gets pushed to fall, to next spring, to limited release…I am waiting for my premier in an infinite loop.

So I decided to trick myself into motion. I decided I was tired of waiting on my moment, and realized my moment was now, and tomorrow, and always.

I started with baby steps.

I reintroduced myself to the elliptical machine. We moved slow in this period of rediscovery. Then — once we were both comfortable — we added time, we added resistance, increased our speed. The machine became a place to challenge myself, to focus some of my energy in a way that will make my heart healthy and my ass a little tighter, to process the swirl of ideas in my wild mind.

I stayed off the scale. I closed my eyes when the seconds on the timer seemed to slow, as if my machine had somehow slipped into an event horizon. I didn’t set a goal beyond doing it and not giving up.

And somehow, this trickery uncovered a truth I’d hidden deep inside. I wasn’t just tired of waiting. I was tired of being told how to wait. If making my own rules for working out kept me going back for more, would making my own rules for my creative life do the same?

And so I tried. Or, rather, I felt. I stuck my fingers in my imaginary clay and started to mold. I opened my heart up to new ideas, to old ideas, to ideas that scare and unsettle me. Instead of asking myself What should I be working on? I asked, What do I want to work on? I called my friend and spilled my fears and hopes at her feet and allowed her to help me clean it up and make it pretty.

I cut myself some slack even if it looked like a fail.

fist bump

Goal oriented people struggle. We expend a lot of energy on beating ourselves up when we miss, fall short, lose sight. We think a lot about the end and forget to enjoy the journey. We forget that all worthy tasks take time, build slowly, plateau, but rarely do they peak too soon. Rarely do you regret your part.

I am not going to build up my stamina, or shave a few pounds and a tiny marsupial pooch, without doing the work. Without committing to hours with my elliptical.

Be a today person. A there-is-not-one-moment-but-many type.

Take baby steps.

sailing

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