I'm starting...

Wooohooo!  Because I've been procrastinating and rationalizing not starting my New Year's resolutions, I decided today would be the day that I would start living that healthier, more organized life.  That started with hopping on the scale first thing this morning -- you know, that naked, haven't even had anything to drink yet weigh in.  I decided I needed to do that because I need to have a starting point.

With dread, I got on the scale and ... woah.  I weighed eleven pounds less than I thought I would!

Hot diggity!  That should have inspired me to slip on my sneakers and get over to the apartment complex workout room which was also part of my resolution, but it didn't.  While I stood on my patio having my morning cigarette in the freezing cold, I looked across the lawn to the management office and saw some schlub on the treadmill already and I thought, "Nah, I'm already eleven pounds ahead of the game."

I'll admit my discipline needs some work ...



This is also very encouraging in that maybe I don't have to finally clean out the closet in my spare bedroom that is full of clothes two sizes smaller...  Clothes that moved with me when I came up here two and a half years ago because my plan was "New city, new habits, back to that smaller size."

Unlike many who don't give up their smaller clothes because they love them so much, my reasoning is more about being a cheapskate.  About ten years ago, I lost 75 pounds.  It was expensive to keep buying clothes as my the old ones started hanging on me.  So, when I grew out of the skinny clothes, I retained them for my eventual weight loss.  I'm not worried about any of them being out of style because my wardrobe is pretty conservative.  There really isn't anything in there that is a trendy cut, color, or pattern.

And, therefore, I can now rationalize not doing another of the things on my list -- cleaning out that closet.  Because, when I moved here, I threw away and donated loads of detritus that had accumulated in my closets and drawers from nine years of living in my condo.  For the first year and a half I lived here, I was very good at not buying things I knew would get little use and have to be stored.  Not so good in the past year, thus the need to clean out my closets so that I have more room.

Yesterday, in fact, I got a wild hair to find a piece of furniture to put by my front door where I could stash those things that one needs on their way out the door -- hats, scarves, gloves, keys, sunglasses, etc.  Somehow, I managed to save myself the money by telling myself, "You don't need another place to stash things because it means you will only buy more things that need stashing."

Nonetheless, when I arrived home at 4pm (after leaving the house at 8:30am), I was struggling with the bags of "stuff" I found.  "Stuff" that I had determined was necessary, but still requires a place.

And, finally, I wind to my point...  Finding a place.

For so many years, I've not worried about finding my place in this world.  I can't say I'm worried about it now, either.  I am just feeling like, finally, I am getting closer to being there.