It turns out that starting a blog is really easy, deceptively so in fact. Continuing one however is far more difficult. Like any diet that begins Monday morning and fades by donut o’clock, the road to muffin top is paved with good intentions. Anyone who has ever woken with determination to make this day different will understand what I am saying. And anyone who has taken that determination and placed it in their back pocket because it was just too heavy to carry, will empathize more so.
Our world is filled with starters – students who begin school and shop for school supplies like addicts in a meth lab only to soon drop out; as well as people who commit to finally taking care of themselves mind, body and soul only to discover their journey is not a scene from Eat, Pray, Love and they are definitely not Julia Roberts. Or more accurately, my children who commit to a meal with broccoli and immediately give up, suddenly remembering their intense hatred of the vegetable from the womb.
It is common-place and somewhat socially acceptable to ‘give up’. The entire January fitness industry is built around this concept. Banking on people wanting to make good on their new year’s resolutions, they are locked into what I like to philanthropically call, monthly gym donations.
We as a nation of humans suffer from a disease called Starters Syndrome. This disease presents in one of two ways;
- The patient develops a deep urge and desire to create change in their life and decides to implement said change when the time is right, Monday comes or once they finally fit into their pre-baby jeans
- The need to create a change overcomes sufferers with such force that they take immediate action to implement said change but shortly forgo all attempts. Instead, they wait for the right time, the perfect moment when the stars have aligned and water tastes like a Piña colada without the calories.
A cure for this disease remain unknown however a variety of treatments exist:
- Delusion
- Apathy
Somewhere in between the mountains of laundry and the iceberg of dirty dishes, I realized that starting a blog the month my nanny was away may not have been the best time. Truth is, getting divorced at 32 with four kids and no formal education may not have been the best time either. There are things that will always be in the wrong time, like a gorgeous cream skirt on the first day of your period, like glitter highlights and vajazzling at any age. (google image it when no one is around to look over your shoulder.)
But then there are the things we push off in search of a better time. I’ll wear that bathing suit when I like my thighs. I’ll end my marriage when the kids leave the house. I’ll go back to school when the kids are older. I’ll take care of myself when others stop needing me as much.
The truth is that there will never be a better time, only less opportunity. Saying, “now is not the time” is a socially acceptable way of saying “I can’t and I’m not ready.” But here’s the truth. If you don’t like your thighs at 30, you aint’ gonna love them at 40 and kids deserve a hell of a lot more than to live in a home with parents biding their time until they part.
I’m not saying its easy and I’m not saying I’m going to close my laptop and immediately turn on the elliptical. It will never be the right time and there will always be a million excuses. But perhaps, if I, Daniella English, start challenging myself instead of time, now would become the right time.
