You know that magical sliver of time after New Year’s where it seems like exercise, creativity, weight loss, financial and wellness goals are not only possible, but they are bright and shiny beacons you can’t wait to swim across frigid water to? Me neither.
I know I have experienced it, the writing down of goals, the crisp new day planner, the unused white soles of my sneakers. I have used this time wisely before. I remember that includes a sense of anticipation for the upcoming year and a knowing that this is “your best year yet”! Words like badass, ninja, rockstar and equally hideous cliches are thrown around in every well-meaning spam email I receive. I call bullshit. This might be my best year ever (please God, I’ll take it!) but today, this past week, the first of 2018, this magical sliver that I used to love so much, has me in bed with a crap cold/flu and post-apocolyptic travel fatigue (worst, and I mean WORST trip back from Canada. Delta. Bad. Very bad.) And work to do. And another plane to get on this week. I might abuse my own no cliche rule. No rest for the wicked?
So you want to know what I’m doing while the parking lot at the YMCA is full to capacity and Ashland citizens are turning green from all their healthy juicing? I am systemically eating a box of See’s Candy from bed. And other nourishing things like pizza and toast but mostly the See’s. I am so tired. Perhaps tired from the sugar, you healthy shiny people suggest? You’re probably right! But today, these past few days, my body says lay the hell down and don’t get up.
I’ve received dozens of newsletters from 12:01am January 1st on how to be better, feel better, look better, spend better, dress better, meditate better ,write better and not care what people think better. And I’ve deleted them all. I just can’t. I can’t be better this week. I had a rockstar, ninja, kickass time on my vacation up in Canada and now, this first week of 2018, my body needs to rest. I declare the first inspirational week of the year some other week in January. Or maybe February at this rate. It will come. I will get up. The chocolate will turn into an apple, the running shoes will get dirty.
Happy New Year. Wherever you are in your Best Year Yet journey. If this is a debbie downer, please delete. Or file under How to Sloth Better or How to Chuck Half Eaten Candies Back in the Box with No Guilt. I haven’t seen that newsletter yet. I might be on to something. Here’s to us, the tired ones, the one who got a cold, the flu, who work from home, who answer emails on vacation and aren’t always influenced by the calendar and how we’re supposed to rocket out of the previous year blasting into the next. I’ll see you at the gym next month. xo
P.S. Yes, big picture, I’m ok. I enjoy writing when I’m grumpy. And the not getting out of bed part lends itself to blogging. xo
PPS. Nuts & Chews.
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