Borders and Boundaries

I've been thinking a lot about borders and boundaries since being away last week.  We drove to Canada to visit friends and family in the city where my parents, my brothers and I were born, Windsor, Ontario.  There were border crossings involved, naturally.  But I passed through a lot of boundaries besides the obvious ones.

It's about a 10- or 11-hour drive from my home in New Jersey to my birthplace.  I can no longer drive it in one day (at least not by myself).  We take our time crossing the borders of Pennsylvania and Ohio.  A lot of people don't like the drive.  They say Route 80 in Pennsylvania is boring and the flatness of Ohio is unappealing to some.  Pennsylvania is wide and it feels like it's taking forever but it's pretty with worn-low mountains and wildflowers and quilts of farmland spread out on either side of the road.  I went to college in Ohio so I'm pretty partial to that state.  It is kind of flat in the north where we travel but there's beauty in that.  The horizon is far in the distance with grey weathered barns pushed against the edge and fields and fields of growing things. 

When I'm driving through Ohio my mind travels across decades of borders and memories that are triggered by green highway signs.  I'm sure I knew people from Vermillion ... my roommate had family in Akron ... the second great love of my life was from Elyria (wonder where he is; is he happy; how many children; and on and on).  I don't visit those borders very often any more but the signs naturally cause me to look back.  Border crossings.

So we drive to Toledo and turn north. It's that simple, especially from my house situated within sight of Route 80.  Before we get there we pass by signs for Sandusky and Cedar Point.  Cedar Point ... site of the last roller coaster I ever rode.  The Blue Streak, 1971.  Nancy's father took us over the border for a day of fun in this classic amusement park.  "Come on," she said.  "It's not bad, I promise."  Her dad could tell I was changed for life when I exited that ride.  I'm pretty sure I was white as a sheet.  Thank goodness they hadn't thought to set up cameras on those rides yet.  I have not been on anything faster than teacups since.  

When we finally get to the real border crossing (after getting through the tunnel that links Detroit with Windsor, the U.S. with Canada), there's always that moment of dread:  that unwarranted fear you get when speaking to someone "in authority."  I can't help but notice the two language greeting, "Bonjour/hello."  A few basic questions and we're on our way again, a couple of blocks to the hotel situated on the river.  On the border.  I can look across from my old home and wave towards my now home.

I crossed some other borders during the week.  The most notable was the boundary I've set up for myself this year.  The one that keeps me eating healthy and exercising every day.  It's hard to make good choices when you're traveling.  I did pretty well the first couple of days but when that poutine appeared on the menu ... well, I crossed over into dangerous eating territory.  I went over the border into full vacation mode. I recognize that's an excuse for making bad choices and not standing my ground at that border.  I did manage to walk every day except for three of the driving days.  I'm not happy with crossing that boundary but I accept that I chose to go over the bridge and that it will take some time to undo the damage.

We spent the week crossing borders and boundaries.  Visiting friends and family who've been in our lives all my life and reminiscing at every turn.  They say you can never go back but I'm lucky.  I was rooted in such a lovely place that even though it's changed much over the years, I can still find my childhood amidst the "progress."

This image really made me both laugh and think as we
waited in a very long line to cross back to the States.  We
aren't "closed" here.  We welcome people from all over the
world.  Every day.  People seeking both a short respite and a
permanent refuge.

Crossing back and returning home, I run the memories in reverse.  Other bits of the past trickle up but by the time we hit New Jersey, I've crossed back to the present.  I'm running my to-do list for the week ahead and playing catch-up in my brain.  The final border crossing:  home again.

~

There was, of course, a playlist as I drove:

Gavin DeGraw (the entire catalog)

Jamie McLean Band (my summer party)

Andy Grammer (happiness on a disc)

Sara Bareilles (pure beauty)

Michael Franti (peace & dancing too)

Colbie Caillet (memories of last summer)

Off Track

I've been pretty single-minded about this weight-loss business.  I mean I've been pretty devoted to making the right food choices and exercising a lot.  But I have an eating problem and no one knows it better than I do.

In fact, most people think I don't have a problem any more.  I'm getting a lot of "you're done now, right?" and "you don't need to lose any more; you don't want to get too skinny."  I think it's interesting that people never said to my face how overweight I was and believe me, I was.  Everyone is too polite for that.  It's interesting that those same people now feel free to voice their opinions about my weight now.  They don't know how much I weigh.  They only see how I look.

This journey is not just about how I look.  It's about how I feel now.  It's about my health.  It's about having energy and confidence.  It's about be able to sit on the floor and maybe teach Godly Play again.  It's about hiking up and down hills with my girl scouts.  It's about working in my garden.  It's about being able to lace up my sneakers.  Literally.  I am now able to do that.  It's about long walks that clear my head to make room for getting other things accomplished.

I have an eating problem.  I manage it so much better now but every once in a while it still manages to manage me.  Like today.

I've had a couple of busy weeks.  A couple of trips to New York to hang out, concert fun in Point Pleasant, family stuff, Memorial Day parading.  This weekend included Friday night through Sunday morning camping with my girl scouts, heading to the Mayo PAC for Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat, dinner out with my son and Governor Christie*, and coming home to an enormous problem to be solved on a Sunday night for work.

I'm tired.  You can't be tired and maintain the amount of strength necessary for this eating battle that I wage on a meal-by-meal and snack-by-snack basis. I've raided my boss's candy bowl which I have successfully walked past every day for a year to a ridiculous degree the last two workdays.  I ordered pizza for dinner tonight even though there are better choices in my 'fridge.  I had three hot dogs at camp.  There could be more confessions here but we get the point.  I haven't been on the scale since Thursday but I'll get on it tomorrow and I know I'm going to be angry and disappointed with myself.

I know what my triggers are ... Nervous me eats.  Tired me eats.  Depressed me eats.  Worried me eats.  Partying me eats.  Drinks too.  And doesn't stop.  Because ordering a cheeseburger isn't the worst thing in the world.  Unless it's preceded by a cheesy appetizer of some sort and followed by a cake and ice cream dessert of some sort.

Time to get back on track.  When I write it here, I have some success.  Sending my thoughts out to cyberworld makes me feel accountable in some way.  I have no idea why that should be so because this is a rather anonymous and ethereal conversation.  After all, I have no idea who, if anyone is seeing this.  But however it does, it does work for me.

And if you know me, trust me.  I know what I'm doing and I know why I'm doing it.  There's no danger of my getting too thin.  I'm in regular discussions with my doctor and only recently finally achieved normal BMI for my height and age.  I'm within the normal range which is to say I could go lower if I want to and still be in that normal range.  It's not helpful to tell me I can eat anything I want.  Of course I can't.  I have a problem.  You wouldn't tell an alcoholic he or she could have a drink if he or she wanted one.  You'd tell them to stay strong.  Food addicted people need the same support.  It's a hard road.  It's not like a person can give up eating entirely the way an alcoholic can give up drinking entirely.  Or a smoker can give up smoking.  We all need to eat.  For a food addicted person with emotional triggers it's like constantly living on the proverbial slippery slope.  Don't tell me not to eat something that may not be the best choice either.  It's my choice.  I chose to give in to my weaknesses the last week.  Tomorrow I choose to get back on track.  You can support me by not judging--the good days or the bad days.  These are my choices to make.

I'm living my life the best way I know how now.  I may get off track from time to time.  But now I know I can get back on track if I choose, too. And I do choose.  It's my life to lead and these are my choices to make.

~

PS  Thank you Weight Watchers eTools!  You are an awesome support.  I could never have come this far (107 pounds) without you.

*Had dinner last night at my favorite restaurant on the planet, Urban Table in Morristown.  Governor Chris Christie lives a couple of towns over from Morristown in the other direction from me.  We were seated at the table just next to his.  The entire room was really respecting his private time with his family which was wonderful to see.  Although I agree with almost nothing that he alleges he's accomplished, I strongly believe in public figures' right to privacy even while out in public.  And since this is a weight-loss journal tonight and the world knows that my governor also struggles with weight (about the only place where he and I connect), he was making awesome choices for his eating plan too ...