It’s all kind of sad because my beautiful, carefully chosen favorite-in-the-whole-world, size 12 pants are still here, stacked neatly up in the “You Can’t Touch This” corner. I’ve been on this new path for a little while now – stumbling through food changes and a truly ungraceful but loving relationship with Kundalini Yoga, and the precious three pounds I’ve lost are just the beginning of what stands between me and those pants.
My wonderful wife offered to buy me more pants, but the truth is I don’t want more size 14 pants. I want my pants… my pants. I want my ass to fit in my pants, and perhaps it’s sick but I find a strange comfort in knowing that I simply can’t go any further in that direction. If I go back to living the old way, I’m going have to do it pants free. I grabbed my last pair of blue jeans off the shelf and said, “Well, I guess it’s just you and me… and we’ve got some work to do.”