On Friday night, I had just come home from a 60-minute walk/jog interval set with my brother. In houses built in the early part of the 20th century, two showers can't function at the same time, so I let Andrew go first.
I called my friend Kyle back. Kyle and I have been friends since college. This means that, for better or worse, we've known each other for approximately one decade. We've watched the other make atrocious academic, professional, and romantic choices. And we still love each other.
(I'm pretty sure he's the only guy besides my brother who does not, nor ever has, misinterpreted "I love you" to mean anything other than "Thank you. I mean it.")
The only time in the history of my life I have ever left a bar tab open?
Walked right out of a bar, to my car, and left my credit card behind?
The night Kyle called and told me his mother had died.
That's the kind of friends we are.
So. Friday. I call Kyle to chat. He asks about my recent attempt to regain healthiness, and I describe my workouts/menus/failure at sobriety.
He tells me that he's been Paleo for 18 months, which automatically makes me question my loyalty, since I'm pretty sure that a life without dairy is a life not worth living.
And then he tells me: "However you recover from your last workout affects your next workout. So eat, even if you're not hungry."
"However you recover from your last ______ affects your next ______."
Heartbreak. Confession. Credit card bill. Job loss. Meditative session. Failure. Lie. Workout.
Eat. Even if you're not hungry.
Date. Even if you feel like being alone is the best solution.
Spend time with whatever God can or does or will mean to you. Even if you can't trust or don't know how to have faith.
Pick yourself up and move along. Even when you're sure it will kill you.
I love you. Thank you. I mean it.