maintenance

About a year ago I contacted someone to calculate my macros. She asked me to answer some questions and take some photographs. A few days later, my numbers (proteins, fats and carbs) were returned to me.

In order to lose weight one must eat below a certain number of calories per day.

In order to gain weight one must eat above a certain number of calories per day.

That number is called “maintenance.”

Since dropping the last few stubborn pounds I have been sitting at maintenance...nothing above, nothing below...a flat line.

With that comes a certain degree of predictability, which suited me well during the months following my brother’s death. It allowed for structure during a time when everything felt like it was spiraling out of control. I am grateful for that.

Looking back, it is clear that I’ve been maintaining in more than one facet of my life.

I recently purchased a t-shirt. It has a donut on it (anyone who knows me knows the way I feel about donuts) and it says “Bulking Like a Boss.” I started lifting heavier, eating more and running less.

I am ready to move past maintenance.




“We have to dare to be ourselves, however frightening or strange that self may prove to be."
-May Sarton

I think I need a sunrise...

In 2013 I began a project that involved taking one picture every day during the month of January. I didn’t do it this year. 

Lately, I’ve found myself struggling for something, anything to look forward to. This winter has felt particularly harsh, mentally, physically and emotionally. 

Sometimes I like to pretend that the clouds are mountains. For a few seconds,  I am no longer in NJ. It’s moments like these that I need more of right now. February is a short month and my goal is to draw inspiration from one thing each day.

the sepia effect

The month of January began with a stomach bug and ended with a cold. The holidays have passed and, while the days have gotten noticeably longer, it is still winter.

It’s a difficult time of year for many people, including myself. The refuge which I normally seek in the outdoors is barren and lifeless. I found myself searching for something, anything to look forward to, but came up empty handed.

That’s not to say that I have nothing to be thankful for at the present time. It is saying that after several months of “taking inventory" I’ve come to the realization that my life has become a muted version of what it used to be.

Here is to the prospect of seeing in color again.