It's been a few nights since my last post, some sleepy and peaceful, some restless with grinding and gnashing of teeth. Yesterday I barely moved, didn't emerge from my bed until the afternoon and then stationed myself firmly on the couch. I declared it Migraine Day, even though it wasn't really a migraine. But it was close enough.
That's how we do things around here: close enough. It's our motto. Or at least it's usually our motto, except for tonight, because tonight I'm going to talk about paying attention to detail. That's something my father always told me. "Pay attention to detail." But why, dad? When the big picture's so much easier to look at, comprehend, control? Because details matter. The little things matter. "The secret to all victory lies in the organization of the non-obvious," wrote Henry David Thoreau on Dec. 19th, 1847. Well, actually it was Marcus Aurelius (according to Google), and I have no idea when he wrote it.
My paramour, Heather, is a health coach and a few weeks ago I started whining to her about how difficult it's been for me to keep my weight down - I slowly gained about 15lbs this year, despite running 250 miles since September.
She asked, "Do you want me to coach you?"
I said, "Yes, but give me another minute to whine."
So I whined for a bit and then said, "Okay, lay it on me."
"It's your portion-sizes, your potatoes and the dressing on your salads," she said.
I've always zeroed in on the quality of the food I eat. Eggs, veggies, fruits, and roots. That's been my go-to, but I've rarely thought about the quantity. That's my background, that's the world I come from. All about the big picture. Macro stuff. Maybe it's a personality thing. But something about her advice clicked.
I thought about all the running, 2 miles here, 3 miles there, 5 miles now and then, and it all added up to 250 miles in just a few months. The little things matter. They add up. Cutting back on my diced breakfast potatoes from 2 to 1, replacing the space in the skillet with broccoli and carrots and mushrooms. Ordering my salads with light dressing instead of normal. I've lost 10 pounds in 3 weeks. From 186 to 176. Paying attention to detail.
But it's not just that. We shouldn't make a fetish out of strategy. It's about something deeper, more human. We must believe it, trust it, breathe it in, feel it, and know it in your bones. We must buy in. We must learn to live Spartan-like, with restraint and courage. We must be deliberate about identity formation and establishing a personal mini-culture.
I track everything, log all my food, and I drink at least 60 ounces of water per day. I eat between 1pm and 7pm. Routine 18 hour intermittent fasting from 7pm until 1pm the next day. Rise and repeat. And sometimes I'll take a Sunday or a Monday and just drink water. I don't eat when I'm bored. I don't eat to entertain myself (unless it's between 1pm and 7pm, but that cuts out late-night snacks). I'm trying to establish the habit of restraint. It's the organization of the non-obvious. The little things matter.
I don't hate hunger. I don't rush to fill my stomach the moment it groans. I've learned to accept it, to appreciate its proper place in my life. I want to bring balance to my attitude towards food. I have a family history of wildly unhealthy eating habits, all over the spectrum. Morbid obesity and anorexia. It is against this backdrop that Heather got through to me about not eating so many potatoes. Sometimes, when I'm tempted, at the table or in the kitchen, I'll say to myself, "The details matter." It helps.
Paying attention to detail is a great strategy, but if you don't have the culture, the intentionality, the heart, then it'll always just be a strategy and never anything real. Good ideas need something to stick to. They need nuttiness, flavor, richness, zest. There must be something between the idea floating around out there and the man or woman to whom it must attach. Culture is the gravitation pull. It brings the idea home. Culture is the honey the good idea sticks to. "Culture eats strategy for breakfast, lunch, and dinner," wrote Thoreau. Or not. You can have all the good ideas in the world, but if you lack stickiness, the ideas are all you'll have.
Here's something Thoreau actually did write:
"Simplify, simplify. Instead of three meals a day, if it be necessary eat but one."
If you believe it, do it. You are in control of everything you put in your mouth. That's the best weight loss advice I can offer.
As for Advent, well, this is the season of details, of little things - of baby Jesus in his manger. Of mustard seeds, flower petals, candle flames, distant train horns, Christmas trees, nativity scenes, winter moonlight, and other little signs of hope. Human beings are little things, too, and we're reminded of this perhaps too often. The world moves fast and things fall out of fashion and interest so quickly. For some, it may be easy to feel not just old, but passed by. Life moves fast, too. Our great grandparents die, and then our grandparents, and then our parents, and we're given that not-so-subtle reminder: "you're next." "You'll never stop this train," wrote Thoreau. Or not. "Time keeps on slipping, slipping, slipping into the future." Until we're forgotten. Our planet is an infinitesimal spec, a "pale blue dot" in an endless, ever-expanding universe. But then there's Advent, a strange, angsty blend of despair, desperation, and hope, that we, the little things, might matter.
I'm blowing out my candles, Holy Landers. Keep walking, and thanks for reading.
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