Wednesday, January 30, 2013
I read about people who say they hate planning, hate tracking. I LOVE it! I didn't at first. It was like starting out with Quicken. Who wants to type in every freaking penny? But I did it and over the years I have an amazing record of where my money comes and goes (not where I would have thought) and can comfortably plan accordingly.
My Food Journal, though, has become my comfort, like Dumbo's feather. I am sure that after all these years the habits I have developed would allow me to coast without paying much attention. But that cheap little spiral notebook is the thing from which all my life radiates. I start with the food, written down, and plan my life (or all too often, fit my life) around it. It is solid, in black and white, dog eared and with coffee splats on it, and it tells me my past and my immediate future, meal by meal. Because I seem to live my life meal by wonderful, glorious meal.
My enclosed porch is my room. There is a sofa and TV and a round table with 4 chairs. I have a favorite chair and my journal sits to the side on my right hand, along with my calendar and shopping list. I look at it a dozen times a day, write notes, sketch out future meals, comment on past meals, put little stickers in it. It is paper (how old fashioned!) and I can leaf through it. And it is mine. When my mind is exploding, it brings me back to center. It gives me confidence and comfort. It has the magic, like Dumbo's feather.
It all started years and years ago because I was told that was the way to lose weight. If anyone had told me it would center my life I'd have thought they were insane. Now it is as much a part of me as my hands and feet.