So this morning during my wander around the foreshore I started detoxing my thinking machine. I breathed in deep, I let it out, once or twice I was tempted to shake it all about, but I didn’t. No one needs to see see a 40 year old waving his thinking machine around a public thorough-fare.

Last night, after watching Death Becomes Her and deciding it’s one of those rare movies from my youth that actually stands the test of time, I went on a follower spree on Instagram. I went wandering through various hashtags and added people who have fabulous bodies and who write great, uplifting things under their pictures.

I make no bones about that, of following hot people who are working towards their goals and dreams. Some of them are a bit up themselves, but I probably would have been too if I looked like that at 20-21. I more resembled a womble at that age. For those who don’t know what a womble is, go hit up a google. They were awesome.

 

This be a womble!!

While I was walking today I got to thinking about the dreaded Day 3. Day 3 is usually when I decide just one cigarette won’t hurt me, or a one packet of chips or a block of chocolate. As I was walking this morning I go to thinking about how many times I’ve started over in my life. I’ve lost jobs, had run in’s with the Grim Reaper, lost homes, found careers, found ambitions, moved out and moved back. I’ve drunk myself into oblivion and a chain smoked. I’ve sobered up and made excuses. What I’ve never done really is stick to it through to the end. 

I’ve almost made Starting Over a as much of a habit as failing to achieve the things I’m aiming for. 

I was looking out at the water today and I was trying to imagine what it might be like in a few months, when my body has stopped protesting the exercise, and my head is no longer consumed by cotton wool and fuzzy thinking. At the moment it seems a little like emptying the Titanic with a children’s bucket.

It all boils down to the point of insta-gratification. I’ve written about it before. 3 days without a cigarette, I want it over with and forgotten about. No more “oh I don’t smoke” just move on. 3 days of walking and gardening, I want the fabulous body now, I’ll pay for it later. Is it any wonder my credit card is maxed out?

My grandmother used to say “if I could go back to being 20, knowing what I know now, I’d do it in a heart beat”. I can’t go back to being 20; wouldn’t if I could. I’m happy with being 40. Who knows, I might actually live to 80 or more which means I’m not at the half way point yet. I’ve got plenty of time to live life “with what I know now”.

I guess the point to this post is there’s no need to go back to being 20, but to begin “living what you know” from today. The only thing most of us had going for ourselves in our 20’s was youth, and probably looks; although my 20’s were in the early 90’s, and that was the era of the Mullet *eep*

As the image on this post says “If you’re tired of starting over, stop giving up”. That’s a lesson I could do well to learn in all the areas of my life.