Counting

Have you ever felt the pressure?  The numbers closing in from every side?  Have you ever fought to keep them from haunting you, following your every move, your every bite, your every hour or day?

The pull of knowing.  The terror once you know.  The sickening glee if the number is 'right', the pit of triggered agony when it's 'wrong'.  Oh that agony!

Or maybe it's the theory of numbers - the feeling of increase or decrease, the reflection of 'goodness' or 'badness', 'success' or 'failure'.  Yet no matter how hard you try, how low the number gets... you've always failed.

Calories.  Pounds.  Days.  Steps.  Reps.  Inches.  Grades.  Curves.

Those little numbers are the death of us all.  And I refuse to die.

That's why those numbers are scribbled out - and I promise I ate more that day than 800.  Because I caught myself slipping, I caught myself counting, and I knew if I counted, I would fail, and I would, figuratively, die.

Because living is about more than counting, it's about experiencing, it's about joying.  It's about feeling and hurting and giving and loving.  It's about gracing other with your presence, learning to say no, but also sometimes, to say yes, to give freely, yet to indulge in rest when it's needed.  It's the freedom to say "That wasn't perfect, but it was good."

... or even ...

"I'm not perfect... but I'm okay."

Because ultimately?  It's not about counting.  It's about living, and living well.