Butterfinger Binge


So I had my Big Girl Pants conversation, and it was fine, and then I wondered if I had set strong ENOUGH boundaries, and what would happen next. Leading this task force means that we’ll need to make some decisions, and they feel like either/or.

Either I will get what I want, OR a coworker I like and respect will get what they want. Either we will do things the right way, OR we will make a horrible, horrible decision, and everyone will find out that we really don’t know what we’re doing, and we are making all of this up. And they will know that we were out sick that day in Kindergarten when the teacher shared the secrets to life and how to be a good adult, and we totally missed out on that. Or at least I did.

In the midst of this, I’m trying to take my thoughts to inquiry, to question them, or to just be the voice of the angel on my own shoulder. (Because that devil has really gotten to be a pro over the last 30-plus years.) Because, well, I still worry.

Not EVERY minute of the day.

Just, you know, almost every minute of the day.

But living BIG doesn’t mean living EASY. And I am still amazing at my job. And I am still a woman of great worth. And I am still a divine soul learning the lessons of this life and trying to achieve my purpose. So I’d better at least start faking it ‘til I make it, because I have THINGS to do.

Like Homework

Last night, those THINGS included writing a paper for my MBA, and picking up dinner, and booking travel for a personal trip next week. (To a BOOK-WRITING SEMINAR, yaaay!)

So, since I am a divine soul who deserves to eat whatever she wants, I thought I would calm the storm inside and distract myself from the crappiness of paper-writing by eating a buttload of Butterfingers. Because I can do that. And, thankfully, I bought a bunch of Halloween candy for the neighborhood children and a bag of Butterfingers just for myself.

So I ate, and I ate, and I ate, because I wanted to. Because only I can make choices about what goes in my body. And in the end, it doesn’t really matter anyway, right?

Right. Except then I felt all gross. Overly full and sleepy and lethargic. It was totally unfair, and I could see where I got a little lost. Not wrong, just not where I wanted to be. Not in the “feeling good and healthy and energetic” zone.

As the Great Saint Anne Lamott once wrote, “It’s hard to remember that you are a cherished spiritual being when you’re burping up apple fritters and Cheetos.”

So I took good care of myself—I finished up my paper and took a long, hot shower, and put myself to bed. Because sometimes putting yourself to bed is the most spiritual action you can take.

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