Holiday Fuckits

I can feel them coming on like a migraine. There’s a little voice in my head that keeps reminding me how much I liked eggnog as a kid and occasionally the smell of some passing fast food behemoth lingers just a bit too long in my nostrils.

The Holiday Fuckits are real. From Thanksgiving into the new year I run the gauntlet. Whether it’s pumpkin spiced lattes or holiday get togethers, this is a season of indulgence, or encouraged indulgence.
Land mines for me are dinners I haven’t prepared, social gatherings, deviations from my routine, and any heavy emphasis on food as a means of celebration.

So when that scent of charring meat that’s pumped out of the fast food joints to lure people like me in hits my nose, and when I can’t just shrug it off, I have to remind myself of all of this, and that the Holiday Fuckits are real.

BUT, they’re no more real than the Birthday Fuckits, the runofthemill Celebratory Fuckits, the I’ve had a rough Monday/Tuesday/Wednesday/Thursday/Friday/Saturday/Sunday Fuckits, they’re no more real than the Fuckits I wake up with 50% of the time, that suggest laying in bed all day with Postmates and Netflix as companions is what I ought to be doing. They’re no more real than any other hurdle I’ve cleared, that I know I will undoubtably be able to clear again and again and again.

I have a plan for when my plan falls apart and a plan for when that plan falls apart too. There’s an old saying, “Everyone has a plan until they get hit in the mouth,” well I have a plan for then too. And I even have a plan for when all my plans and training and tactics go to shit: Make the best of it and get back on course tomorrow. If the Fuckits overwhelm you, if they win, allow it to just be that moment, or even that season as it can be for many - it’s okay, you can get back onto the path.

Happy Holidays!