I made a big mistake, and I didn’t use it to make my life better. I used it to be okay with a life less lived. I used it to be okay with mediocrity and the mundane. And I didn’t make myself any better because of it.And that’s not okay with me.

Our greatest mistakes, if we look at them, and digest them, and interact with them, and learn from them… they can be the greatest moments of our lives.

Nobody on Earth can tell you how you should live your life. Nobody with any real authority anyway.

I’m not going to miss 95% of life to weigh 5% less.

I am, for some reason, actually happy with who I am and the muscle, the bones, and the flub that exist beneath these clothes.I don’t need to lose 20 lbs. to be attractive.I don’t need to starve myself of the good things of life to be healthy.And, I don’t need to chase someone else’s ideal of what I should be looking like.

The skinnier and more toned I got, the fatter I felt.The more in shape I got, the more out of shape I felt like I was.And the more I made myself look good to the masses, the less attractive I felt like I was.

I enjoy a torture session on the rowing machine and I also enjoy my mom’s homemade peach cobbler. I enjoy flopping like that dead fish with hips that can’t lie in dance class, and I also enjoy ordering pizza with my kid, renting a movie, and downing popcorn while we share some special time together. I enjoy seeing how much I can lift at the gym and I also enjoy stuffing a fresh chewy chocolate chip cookie into my face when I’m having a hard day.

Who I am is not the same minute to minute or day to day. There are far too many variables for that to ever be true, for me, or for anyone.

My 30 year attempt (and subsequent failure) to reach “normal” has brought me to ponder whether “normal” even exists, or if it is nothing more than delusional grandeur based in the sounds of those sweet sirens drawing my ship in all the wrong directions.