Carbs love my butt and somehow my butt loves carbs. Every time I try to “diet” them out of my life I end up in a bakery and what happens next should not be described in detail. I will only suggest you leave the name of your favorite bakery in the comments and if they deliver. Of course, I recognize that the human body actually needs carbohydrates to function. I understand the whole needing fuel for energy, enabling fat metabolism, and preventing protein used for that energy “stuff”. However, I also understand that I don’t need 15 butter croissants to enable all this to work inside me. That’s not my fault; if evolution were up to me this is exactly how it would work. Pasta and croissants would grow from trees and broccoli would be forbidden. This is exactly why things are not up to me.
I’m slowly reaching a place where, like many Americans, I am probably comfortable with eating my giant platefuls of carbs and only complaining about the size of my butt instead of actually doing something about it. Which is
probably the wrong attitude to have. Strangely enough, I am actually a highly motivated person; I am also extraordinarily impatient.
This impatience, I’ve come to recognize as I’ve grown older, is how I hide my self-doubt and many of my insecurities. When I see that I am not making enough progress in whatever I am attempting to do I am quick to give up, citing that I am not patient enough to see the results or that perhaps whatever plan I had been utilizing was not the right one. In reality, I was starting to doubt my own abilities in the first place and chose to quit before I failed. Carbs are always easier than eating healthier, quitting is always easier than healing from failure.
Easily, my fear of failure is much larger than my butt right now and I’m consciously aware of both of them. And so now I suppose I am at a sort of crossroads in determining whether or not I get my fears under control. As long as each direction leads to a bakery I would like to think I will get myself sorted out.