A Mindless Sunday

A few weeks ago, I declared to change the course of my lifestyle. There was no particular reason to do so. There was no meltdown under the smoky CTA subway. It was as underwhelming as it sounds, if not more. Essentially, I woke up and told myself to change. It wasn’t even verbally stated or actualized until things started happening. I went grocery shopping and the first items wielded in my freshly sanitized Whole Foods cart came from the produce section. I yanked kale, spinach, chard, mushrooms and sprouts. As I approached the seafood section, I noticed a pattern, which was plant-based.

I’d given the idea of a plant-based diet some thought in the past, but never exceeded a passing thought. Here I was, staring blankly into my cart of plants as the butcher asks, “What can I do for you?” In a daze I picked my head up and simply said, “Nothing.” I continued my escapade, picking up coconut milk, hemp seeds and other substances I’m still learning to pronounce, one of them being spirulina. I still don’t know what it is, but I hold the conviction that it must be good for me. This grocery trip was the first of changes.

Before I knew it, I’d reached the two-week point in my plant-based diet. Things were changing, for certain. I’ll keep retreating to the word change, because it seems to be the crux of my existence right now. With a new diet I began thinking differently, feeling differently. Vegan fanatics claim that you will have this newfound energy, glowing skin and overall wellness. I’ve yet to find any of those things. But changes are happening, nonetheless.

Something as incremental, or immense as a dietary change (depends on the person), made me do an autopsy on myself. It made me tap into my life, what I felt needed to change. It also made me realize that if I was able to change my diet, I could deploy agency in other areas of my life. I kept this perpetual autopsy going, really investigating a vision of myself that would not only be beneficial for me, but for others. I thought about the Fall and Winter months. I thought about my struggles with anxiety during these months. What could I do to change this?

It led to meditation. Now, this was, and continues to be a struggle for me. As someone who sits in a chair similar to that of a five-year-old, legs kicking and all that, I didn’t know how to assess my breathing, or note thoughts. Nevertheless, I’ve stuck with it. This in itself is change. Understanding that nothing comes immediately and, to be gentle on yourself in the process.

Meditation led to an interest in at-home-workouts. It seemed beneficial to friends and family, especially in lockdown. The thought of googling and searching for a class online would’ve been daunting before, whereas now it’s status quo. Somehow, some way, I am looking at once complex concepts to me and simply making them elementary. I like to start my days with Joe Holder’s mobility/gratitude routine.

Change has been happening in droves. It was uninvited, completely subconscious. I’ve been thinking a great deal about this word and its relation to me now. In a recent conversation with a friend they told me they have time to “figure it out.” I couldn’t agree more with this statement, but what followed came as a surprise.

“Why change?”

My response was a laugh accompanied by a shrug, because I’m not witty, and furthermore, I didn’t have an answer. All I can say for now is, change happened to me when I least expected it. I suppose you have to feel something deep in your bones or have enough bad days to look yourself in the mirror and want better. What I have to remind myself of, is that change does not mean happiness. Quite the opposite. It means process, and willingness to look unknown in the eyes and say, “let’s get after it.”