Wednesday, May 15, 2019

The difference 90 minutes makes

Patty Griffin sang, "I don't know nothing except change will come."

Let's talk about that for a minute. Raise your hand if you enjoy change.

I would like to think I'm a relatively flexible person. Movie instead of shopping this afternoon? Cool. Mexican instead of burgers tonight? Fine. I can pivot for the inconsequential details, no problem. I can make decisions on the fly and take charge in a crisis. But mess with my schedule? Consider me derailed.

The truth is I hate unexpected change. I get frustrated and thrown off course. My plans take a nose dive. I am a creature of habit and my routines are most rewarding when I stick to them.

My work life has shifted once again, which is certainly not a bad thing for my career. I've been asked to produce a higher profile newscast which makes me proud. But the success at work has definitely been a speed bump on my road to better health.

Instead of ending at 5 p.m., my work day now ends at 6:30 p.m.

How much of a difference can an hour and a half really make? For me, it has turned into a very big deal.

Here's the Meg life (however lame it may sound): gym time, dinner with friends, grocery store for bagged salads and veggies, better quality programming on the DVR, read a chapter before bed. It's all routine stuff on any given night of the week, certainly nothing that can't be done 90 minutes later. But for whatever reason, I can't seem to do it. That 90 minutes feels like the entire night is ruined.

It took a long time to figure out what works for me, make it a habit and stick to it. I enjoyed my evenings and had plenty of time to do all the things I wanted to do.  Now, at the risk of sounding melodramatic, my routine is lost. It feels like starting all over again.

Confessions in my haphazard life: I haven't been consistent with my workouts or diet since my trip to Radnor Lake more than three weeks ago, just before my promotion. I've been eating junk like a drunken frat boy (Sonic makes it waaaay too easy to get an Oreo Blast). My salads are going south in the fridge, purchased and never opened. Twice (hangs head in shame).

Even now I can feel the anxiety of wanting what I had competing with the prospect of creating something new.

I know what I have to do, and as they say, that first step is always the hardest. But I know if I just take it, I will recommit and the clouds will part. My veggies will practically roast themselves and all the best Dateline episodes will show up on my DVR like magic.

The same words I used when I started this journey still ring true: I just have to find what works for me, whether that's grocery shopping before work or squeezing some exercise into my newly mandated lunch hour. Perhaps I can even work on staying up a little later (I know, pitiful).

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