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Great Harvest

I write in a journal every morning before anyone else gets up in our house. I developed the habit a couple years ago. I like it – just me and the hum of the refrigerator.

It was a challenging routine to establish – me sitting quietly with my thoughts. It made me squirm. Did I really want to know what I was thinking?

Sometimes my thoughts scare me…I wonder if other mentally stable people think the things I think. I don’t know if I need to be more concerned about Dr. Seuss speak or insanity.

I question just about everything. Is that normal? Why did I make that choice? Where do I want to go from here? How am I going to get there? How long is it going to take and will I know when I arrive?

I realized yesterday that I’ve been hanging out with boredom – not a good place since food generally becomes the sole source of entertainment. Once confronted with my predicament, I decided to mix things up a bit, but first I needed to figure out why I found myself in this place.

As of late, our family has experienced a tad bit of over-programming, at least for my liking. We’re working on that, but as I waited for the next event, I wandered into Great Harvest Bread Company. I ignored the flashing neon sign in my head warning me to stay clear.

The bread is delightful, yeasty and dense. It tastes like something that might show up on the dinner table of the Ingalls’ family on a cold winter night on the prairie – Ma had a way with cooking.

I know this wasn’t a place that I needed to inhabit, but I walked in and accepted a slice of their cinnamon bread with a big glob of butter. I avoided the Dakota. It is a hearty whole grain that has lots of nuts and seeds baked into the top. I love it; my family hates it. I couldn’t even pretend that I was buying that loaf for anyone but me. I checked out with a loaf of white bread and the girl behind the counter asked if I wanted to join the frequent buyers club.

“No thanks, that will bring more trouble than I need right now. Besides, I carried a card about hundred pounds ago.”

She gave me an odd look and laughed. I’m sure she thought I was just trying to be funny. But couldn’t she tell by looking at me that I used to be very heavy?

She couldn’t see my past, and then it occurred to me that I really don’t identify with that girl anymore either. When did that happen? Will I be able to maintain the progress if I begin to see myself as a totally different person than who I was? I often feel like that girl was just a messed up friend of mine. Is that insane?

I suppose that I will always have to be diligent about my eating choices, but I think as long as I pay attention to the signs along the way, I’ll be O.K. Perhaps it’s not about arriving at a destination, but allowing myself to become comfortable with the evolution and the questions that arise through the process.

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