Sugar and salt look remarkable similar, yet yield opposite results
Why is it that some people seem to confuse “mistake” with “conscious choice”?
It’s a mistake to accidentally grab the salt, thinking it is sugar, thus ruining an entire batch of cookies. It’s a mistake to call someone by the wrong name because you honestly were confused, or to unintentionally mistake a person for his or her look-alike sibling. Taking a wrong turn and getting lost is a mistake. Mistakes are unintentional.
When someone steals, lies or cheats, they are making a conscious decision to do so. At some point, they have given themselves permission. They didn’t make a mistake; they knew exactly what they were doing. The mistake may have been thinking they wouldn’t be caught, or thinking they wouldn’t regret it, or thinking there would be no consequences.
What happens when the results of your exercise program are not what you had expected or hoped for?
It’s been two months. As I stated in an earlier post, I began taking two-mile walks in the park down the street from my house. And then it snowed. And it got cold; incredibly, horribly cold. I dug out the Wii Fit and dusted it off. I was determined not to miss a day. Of course I DID miss a few days, but have been more dedicated than not. I’ve missed a day here or there, but for the most part I have logged at least a half hour but most often an hour per day. I start with the yoga poses, work through the strength exercises and then hit a half hour of aerobics, followed by a few of the balance games. I have gotten lots of perfect scores, bested my old scores and racked up 40 hours of activity.
The result is that I have gained five pounds and now have tendonitis in my ankle and wrist. I’m sure the wrist pain is from too many downward dog-type moves, so I have modified them and wear a wrist splint.
It would be pretty easy to throw in the towel at this point. But I refuse. Not that I am a glutton for punishment and certainly not that I am one of those folks who lives for the chance to exercise. It would be easy to quit, and considering the evidence it would seem logical. But there are subtle signs I’ve noticed that make me want to keep going. Last night I stooped down to poke the fire and was able to do a nice squat, hold it while stabbing at the burning logs, and then quite easily rise back to standing. I have been sleeping through the night most nights, and feel more rested in the morning. Even though there have been two deaths in the family and we have gone through the big holiday season, I have not had issues with my anxiety. I didn’t freak out while stuck on the turnpike for 4 hours. To me, that in itself is huge.
I will say that I had expected to drop a few pounds, or at least not gain. That was my big goal and it is extremely disheartening not to have achieved it considering all of the hard work I’ve put in. But when I look at the big picture, I have found my motivation to continue. As we age, things like stooping and lifting tend to get harder, not easier. My inner voice tells me that I will thank myself some day, even if I thank myself wearing a larger size than I had envisioned.
Being stuck in traffic is better than being unexpectedly stuck in a hospital ER
We woke up in Philadelphia the morning after Christmas to a light snowfall. It was lovely. By the time we were finished with our lunch at a nearby diner, the sky was crystal clear, cerulean blue and the sun was shining brightly.
After getting onto The Pennsylvania Turnpike, I figured that even taking into consideration the stop we had to make along the way, we would be home in about an hour and a half. And then I noticed the cars that were sitting at a standstill in front of me. I stopped, wondering what must have happened.
I guess it would be easy, almost expected in fact, to lose patience after four long hours of crawling along at speeds that never exceeded 5MPH. I was relieved to finally make it to the exit that led us to a detour of the closed down stretch of highway. I will admit that I was exhausted and extremely happy when we finally got to the open road. But I felt extremely fortunate even while stuck in that stand still parking lot of a traffic mess. I knew the reason for the logjam must be one heck of an accident.
When we got home -almost 7 hours later than my initial prediction-and turned on the news, we saw the photos that had been taken earlier in the day. There were 35 cars, tractor-trailers and SUVs jutting at odd angles on the roadway. The snow had been heavier in that area earlier that morning, and the cars had been involved in a chain reaction collision as they slid on the icy roads and into one another. The people involved in the collision said they, too, felt lucky. In spite of the wreckage, there had been no fatalities and relatively few injuries.
Why do some folks focus on what or who they don’t like? Why give attention to the things and people who upset them, when they could be spending that same time and attention thinking about things and people they do like ?
Notice what singer was given the most attention last year? When asked in an interview if she regretted her performance at the VMAs, she smiled and said, “No! People won’t stop talking about it!” Talk about free publicity. She’s laughing all the way to the bank. Smart girl, really. She knew exactly what the reaction would be.
Wouldn’t it be wonderful if music legend Carlos Santana had gotten the same amount of attention for what he had done? Don’t know what I’m talking about? Exactly.
On that unseasonably warm, 67 degree December afternoon, realization hit me just as I began my 4.3-mile drive across the Chesapeake Bay Bridge: The funeral we were returning home from had told me all I needed to know about him.
He came from a tiny town that sits on one of those little fingers of land hanging out into the bay. A waterman and a carpenter by trade, he was laid out to rest in his favorite red and black checked, flannel shirt. We arrived an hour into the two hour visitation and we had to wait in a long line. After we sat in one of the pews to wait for the service, we noticed that the stream of people was constant. When the time came to begin the line was still long and the time was pushed back. Looking around the room I saw white faces, black faces, brown faces, and a same sex married couple. Fireman showed up in dress uniform, as he had worked with them as a volunteer EMT. He had loved them all, and the grief on their faces showed they loved him back. The minister told of the devotion of his daughters, who put their lives on hold to care for him and his wife, who stood by him for many years. He said that last summer, when he first went to their house to visit, the yard and driveway were filled with tables of food and it looked like the entire town was there to spend the day.
Looking out over the Chesapeake, across the water where he had spent most of his life, I felt cheated for not knowing him better. I envied my husband for sharing his DNA. Just hearing about him made me want to be the best person I can be. I wondered; what would any of our final farewells say about us?
