The road to Hell is paved with good intentions.

I read something last weekend that has stuck with me: “Live life with intent, not out of habit.” The sentiment seemed so powerful to me. 

So much of what I do in life really is out of habit and has so little to do with purposeful intent. I began to wonder what my life would look like if I started to live everyday with intention. Eat what I intend to eat and not what I just happen upon, exercise because I intend to and not find myself at the end of another day, unable to fit it in. Be kind to the people around me and not find myself snapping at an unsuspecting citizen on a day I should have come with a disclaimer, “approach at your own risk.” Actively loving myself and not self-doubting out of habit. I thought I might just try to give this concept a go. What an interesting experiment this would be...

Two things happened today. The first one was a big one, a local legend lost his battle with cancer. Sab was, for anyone who lives in my neck of the world, a remarkable man, a little rough around the edges with the biggest, most genuine heart. He loved people fiercely, friends and strangers alike. And no one lived life more fully and completely than that man. He literally defined the phrase, “work hard, play hard.” And in his later years, there is no doubt that he lived most days with intent. One can't be battling cancer, lose their house in a fire and immediately gather musicians together to raise money for other non-profit organizations unless you intented to do something great with each day. Despite being tired and ill, he still volunteered constantly and lent his voice to anything he could. That is a man who intended to do something great with each and every day. What a world this would be if everyone worked their way through life with the intention of making their little corner better. Every frigging day! I can't even imagine the ripple effect of that behaviour...

The second thing that happened today was much less significant. I had a crappy day. The world did not stop turning, there was no moment of silence, but I sure felt like the bottom was falling out. It was one of those days where I just couldn't' do anything right and the more I tried, the worse it got. Work was exhausting, people were frustrating, my car was ill, my heart was broken... etc. My plan to live with actionable intent quickly went by the wayside and was quickly replaced with old habits. I was disappointed in myself, snapping at others, and blaming the world for it all.

Full disclosure, in these situations I like to eat. Not only do I like to eat, I actually feel like I have the right to eat. And I'm not talking about my usual carrots and Brussels sprouts here. I'm talking about some delightful cheese covered amazingness, followed up with a dark chocolate treat or 10. As so many of us who struggle with our weight, I am an emotional eater. I eat when I'm happy, I eat when I'm sad, I eat when I'm angry, frustrated, joyful, tired... I eat and I love every minute of it.

I have spent years changing how I eat. I have eliminated as much processed food as I can and switched to whole foods. There is no question that I look better and feel better. I am stronger and the brain-fog has lifted, my skin is better and my energy-level is through the roof. Despite how many positive changes have occurred, when the shit hits the fan, I still crave Nutella straight out of the jar and Miss Vicky potato chips. I work very diligently to rage against the emotional-eating-machine. However sometimes old habits kick in and I stop living with intention and I find myself completely off the wagon. The problem is even greater than that however. I not only eat in reaction to my emotions, I also tend to use food as a reward and a consolation prize. Let me explain...

When I have worked really hard to complete a task I really didn’t want to do in the first place, my initial reaction is to “have a treat.” I realize that I'm not a dog and that I should not reward myself with food but it's just always been my go-to. Few things make me as happy as good food and it's always been the most affordable reward system I could dream up. I can't buy a Lexus after I finally manage to drag my ass outside for a run but some Lindt chocolate – now that fits into the “budget” just perfectly. Again, I feel like I deserve it. I've been so good all week after all...

On the opposite end of the spectrum is my need for a consolation prize – and when you're the chubby girl, there are a lot of opportunities for consoling! Some kids “mooed” as I walked down the street today and I can never know for sure whether it was directed at me, at my size or had nothing to do with me at all. The truth is, in my head it became about me and I gathered up the experience and threw it on the heap of crap from the day. As I trudged the rest of the way home, in a snowstorm in April, I thought, “holy! After this day Hawkins, you deserve a bag of chips and to chase them down with a bottle of wine!” Now in the end, I didn't do it. I ate some celery with peanut butter, drank some tea and went to bed but I honestly don't always have that sort of will-power. Sometimes I just need consoling and food is just so damn good at it.

My relationship with food is sometimes messy and tiring. I can spend a lot of timing looking for something great and finally abandon the mission realizing I only have access to crap. I sometimes need it more than I'd like to admit and sometimes use it and swear I'll never tell anyone about it. Sometimes it brings me joy, sometimes it I feel shame. (For the record, I have also just described my relationship with men, but that's a post for another time.)

Having a treat isn't the problem. I'm a big fan of treats and I think people should actually indulge in good food more often. The problem, for me, is why I eat. I have to think about food in a different way so that it doesn’t become my source of guilt. In the same sense, it can't be my major sense of joy either. If I'm really honest, I guess I actually need to stop using food to replace what I'm looking from the world to give me and watch it come up short time after time. I want the world to keep reminding me that I'm great and loved and safe, and when it comes up short (and let's face it, it often does), I'm back to letting nachos take over the job.

The food isn't the issue, the issue is the intent. In the beginning I said that I wanted to live more with intent and less out of habit. I intend to be healthy, happy and strong but old habits can derail me sometimes. When I think about Sab and how he changed so many days for so many people, I realize you can't only have that sort of impact in the world when you intend to something great, kind, thoughtful each day. I can go into a day intending to be happy and odds are, no matter what happens, I will be. That's the thing about intent: when I intend to do something, I can almost always find a way to make it happen. When I live with the intent to be healthy, I eat kale. Why? Because I'm very aware that I can only get out of my body what I put in and I expect a lot from it. Bad day, sad day, happy day... I'll still eat the kale because that's what I intended to do. Without intent? I might eat the kale, I might eat the pasta. I might exercise, I might not. It's a crapshoot really when there's no intention. There's no goal in mind, no purposeful action planned. I really don't want the parts of my life that I have control over to be a crapshoot. I can do better than that.

It is often said “that the road to hell is paved with good intentions” and I suppose that's true. I intended to be on time, but I was late. I intended to eat fish but I ate bacon. I intended to be strong but I fell apart. But my intent could be mixed with will-power and determination, I suspect the result would be extraordinary. If nothing else I'd be at least doing what I say and saying what I do.

I realize that I can intend to be a willowy supermodel all day long and it's not going to happen. I can intend to be a world-class high jumper but that's also not going to happen. I can't fight nature completely. I will always be a little bit chubby and always have oompa loompa legs (and quite frankly it's a good thing. If my legs were to grow to a normal length for my height at this point, I'd find myself having to come up with a lot of new comedic material!) Realistic goals are the way to go and then everyday I need to wake up “intending” to meet those goals. Keeping my eyes on the prize.

For the record, I intend to continue to love food. I intend to keep fighting against my muffin top and Oprah-arms. I intend to smile. I intend to be unique. I intend to be happy.