I've always known this, but it solidified on a hike with Mantana, a hike she swore "wasn't so bad" as we cruised there in the convertible. She told me did it for a run, speed walked up the hill to the top then jogged afterwards on the path coming down, did it in no time at all.
Piece of cake.
Or not so much.
I was huffing and puffing halfway up, took a few breaks, and by the time we were nearing the top I was cranky. Because I do not like going uphill. And I do not like having to take breaks. And I do not like feeling fat. And I do NOT LIKE UPHILL.
Yet somehow, I've managed to convince myself I like hiking. I don't really know what that's about.
The metaphor I'm seeing here: Making changes is a lot like going uphill. Doing things the same, day after day, is going with momentum. Down down down, into my hole, making the same easy, self-destructive choices that I always do. But making good decisions, healthy decisions...those take more effort. Effort I hate to expend.
All decisions, all choices, they carry weight behind them. They matter. I either have to haul myself uphill with the weight of my good decisions, or let the bad ones pull me down with gravity. But either way, I feel a strain. I'm just going to benefit positively or negatively from it, grow or wilt away, let it build me up or tear me down.
Going downhill isn't easy either, you know. You start to go faster than you want to, you skid and grasp at anything for a little balance, you claw at the trees and ground and rocks for purchase. It's hard on your joints, going downhill. It wears away at your spirit until you slump.
So, this ramble probably makes no sense. But my point is this. What I've been doing, this downhill slide...it hasn't been easy.
So let's try going uphill for awhile. I can take breaks, I can get cranky...but why not let the weight of my decisions make me stronger, not weaker? Why not change my direction, and try to see the view from the top again?