Best Life.

Our secretary at work is reading this book by Bob Greene, the one that promises to tell me how to live my best life.  Her desk is situated in such a way that I can see her all day, every day, and that book has become her constant companion.

I may have to hide it, because seeing it every time I look up?  Making me a little crazy.

Oh, Bob Greene.  Of course I want to live my best life.  But do I really have to eat Fiber One to do so?  Must Jell-O be part of my best life?  Really? 

Honestly, Bob, I resent the implication that living a life in which I am not afraid of food and not obsessed with exercise means I’m living a worse life.

My best life is one in which I’m not fighting myself all the time, in which I devote my energy to things that bring me joy, pleasure, satisfaction, things that are reflections of what’s important to my inside.  I can’t live my best life if I’m counting calories because then my energy is wasted.  So, Bob Greene, to you I say, no, thank you.

In other news, today I said something out loud to a coworker that I’d only spoken to my mom, sister, and husband (and the internet, but you know).  She passed by my desk and, commenting on the peanut butter and saltines I was snacking on, said to another worker, “That’s how she keeps that little waist.”  And I said, “Actually, my waist isn’t all that little anymore.  I’ve decided I’m done with dieting.  I’m just not doing it anymore.”

She didn’t say anything, just walked away.  And I licked the peanut butter off my fingers, listened to the hallelujah chorus of tiny chubby cherubim around me, and realized there really is power in speaking something out loud.

My three-month no-diet experiment expires on 7/16/07, but I think I’m really done forever.

My best life just doesn’t include diets.