I’m writing this post while sitting at a beautiful new desk in the corner of my bedroom. It’s a 1940s Chippendale reproduction secretary desk- the kind that opens outward and contains cubbies, drawers, nooks, and secret compartments inside. It’s seen better days, but except for a little hardware and some polishing, the desk is in excellent condition.

It’s the kind of desk that fits my “dark academia hobbit” vibe perfectly. Sitting down at it just makes me want to write, and even better- I got it for free off of someone’s curb. It belonged to the original owner’s grandmother and it’s just “had its time with them.” They were glad it was being adopted by a writer though instead of winding up in a landfill.

I bring it up because, in the last week or so, various aspects of my life have turned for the better. I’m finally starting to lose weight again, my money management has improved so that I’m actually able to save again, and I’ve successfully pitched two new desserts at work in addition to getting a cost-of-living pay increase.

My dad would say “Don’t question it, just say thanks and carry on.” It’s a typically Jewish superstitious mindset- “When good things happen, don’t question it and don’t express too much happiness or it’ll all go away.” I catch myself in that all the time. I rarely say “everything’s great”- it’s always “I’m doing alright.” “Things could always be better” as a Jewish mental/emotional/spiritual/supernatural insurance against things getting worse.

I am starting to question and wonder about this, though, simply because this isn’t the first time it’s happened. A feeling of something “clicking” into place and unlocking a cosmic level-up. The best that I can tell, it’s because success cascades, and “winning” once can inspire you to succeed in other areas, consciously or not.

A few months ago, I realized that I needed a new focus for getting back into shape. The first time around, my goal was simply “lose weight, and stop having back and knee pain.” I succeeded and kept it off for a good long while. I had completed my goal of “being fit to work in a kitchen for as long as possible.”

That’s all it was though. Once I achieved my goal, the only thing letting me maintain it was good habits which- admittedly- took a confluence of terrible events to break. Break they did though, and (to me) I lost half of my success. I had reached my goal and keeping it was a process I felt so comfortable in that I lost it.

“When the Why is clear, the How is easy,“ I had told myself back then. Here I was, fifty pounds heavier and twelve years older, staring middle age in the face. I wasn’t happy with where I was, but beating the living crap out of my body wasn’t working anymore. It made me tired, angry, and disappointed. Self-punishment isn’t a good “Why.” Berating myself over my lost discipline, lost fitness, and falling out of love with a routine my older body wasn’t going to tolerate so easily proved more stress-inducing than anything.

As I was sweating and grunting through a “Gotch’s Bible” workout and trying to focus on what I was doing, I said “Why am I doing what I’m doing? Is this workout even doing any good? What is the goal here?”

“Keep moving, keep going… but why?”
“That’s Why- keep moving because Keep Moving.” Patience and Relentlessness were the hallmarks of my career, I’d reflected. I never really cared if I was the Strongest, the Fastest, the Most Cut- I cared about being able to Work. I cared about being able to keep moving- carrying as much as possible, as fast as possible, as long as possible. My exercises weren’t inspiring me to stick because they weren’t focused on Endurance.

Okay, so new regimen. I got back into running. I changed my weight training routine from a “powerlifting” model (progressive overload via added weight) back to the sandbag based on the card deck- do as many lifts as possible within a time limit, focusing on form. More aerobics and calisthenics, supported by yoga. Make a special calender on my phone to tell me what day was what- no guesswork, no “whatever I felt like.” Routine. Schedule. Stick to it.

Results were slow. I was still trying, but I was frustrated with how far I had yet to go. The “patience” part was wearing thin. Why did it all feel so easy before?

Another click- I’m not 26 anymore. I’m twelve years, two rounds of Covid, a mental illness medicated with something that slows my metabolism, and a host of adult stresses and worries I didn’t have before farther along. Weight loss goals will have to be different because it’s going to look different. Getting back down to 165 will probably never happen, so I have to chase after something attainable instead of berating myself over the impossible.

What’s the goal then? Why do I Keep Moving? Because Keep Moving. Accept the different situation, but do my best regardless, and let my best be enough. Let every improvement be a win, not a reminder of how far I had to go. I wasn’t losing pounds yet, but hey- I could still run a 10:30 minute mile. My back was still hurting, but I was getting more flexible.

Suddenly it felt easier to stick to not just a workout regimen, but to eat better as well. I had to give myself the grace to relearn good habits instead of berating myself for losing them. Instead of grunting through a workout and whining about it being easier before, I had to start saying “Keep going. You’re still trying. You’re still fucking in there- you already won by TRYING.” A few days ago, I realized I’d lost 5 pounds. I was on my way.

The final “click” came- if I can do all this for my health, then why not for my finances and grant myself grace to relearn keeping to a budget? A couple deep breaths and deep dives, and I came out feeling more free and in control. I’ve still got debt, but I know I can pay it down in time.
If I can do that, why can’t I give myself grace to just hand something simple and good to my chef, not some overwrought technical masterpiece. Just damn good simple recipes performed and served perfectly. I can let myself just be good.

None of this led to the lovely desk, of course. THAT was a case of seeing it on the curb, not being able to take my eyes off it, and deciding to call my wife to bring the car down to help me get the thing home. It felt like another “win” though- another point on the metaphorical scoreboard. That little win led to me cleaning up the table that had been my desk to get it out of the way. I cleared the floor and proceeded to get it downstairs, through our living room, over our bed, and into place all by myself. A tidy, clean space to write with a beautiful desk- that’s a hell of a win to cascade into.

Celebrate small wins, grant yourself the grace and space to improve, and

Stay Classy,