2022 started off great. We did our first family vacation since the kids were well, kids. The four of us did an all-inclusive for a week in January in Jamaica and truly had our best time together.
And it just kept getting better. While waiting in the security line at the Montego Bay airport as we headed home, I received an email with the green light for a new training project starting in two weeks. I already had a bunch of work queued up to start and now this. 2022 would be a banner year.
Six months in however, things weren’t going so well. After the initial rush of work, I was exhausted but there was little else in the hopper. Then, I lost a client who complained I wasn’t nearly touchy-feely enough for them. Plus, my shoulders were really hurting.
They had bothered me for some time, probably due to improper lifting when I was a younger man. The doctor told me I had severe arthritis plus tears in both rotator cuffs. I would need surgery to repair them.
This provided some hope from the constant pain, but I was really unhappy.
I was also putting on a ton of weight.
It was easy to disguise at first. I just opted to wear stretchy, nylon pants, not unlike loose-fitting versions of the parachute pants popular in the 1980s. Then I went to big button-up Hawaiian shirts. For work I had black polo shirts and wore tan stretchy golf pants. The shirts fit tight, but I chose to believe people would think I was just a big powerlifter or something.
But when I looked in the mirror, I just saw a frumpy, overweight, old man.
My surgery was scheduled for early 2023 and so we chose to end the year and begin a new on in early January with a trip, with our long time friends Steve and Sara, to an all-inclusive, adults-only resort in Aruba.
I was very specific with our travel agent. Adults only. No kids.
I was looking forward to just recharging in a lounge chair at the beach with lots of drinks and food. Much like last year in Jamaica.
2023 dawned and we flew to Aruba.
When we arrived, I noticed kids everywhere. I thought maybe we were at the wrong place, but it was ours indeed. Angry, I texted our travel agent and he blew it off saying there weren’t that many adults-only in Aruba. I have not spoken to him since. Things were indeed starting off poorly.
It got worse. Our friends were a bit younger, but Steve, who was a few years younger than me had embarked on a fitness and wellness journey. He was full of energy and wanted to work out and do outdoor stuff.
“Let’s rent bikes and ride up to the lighthouse!” he suggested. I would rather have prepped for a colonoscopy.
I woke up the first morning at six and Barb had already headed off to the gym. I thought this was supposed to be a vacation. Later that day the four of us sat on the beach, but then the three of them planned a bunch of activities. Bike riding to the lighthouse. Exploring this and that. I wanted to just sit.
Finally, after a busy next day, I was honest and told them I wasn’t doing well and needed to decompress. The three of them were ok and spent the next few days together doing all sorts of things. I sat in my lounge chair and stared at the water. Completely and utterly depressed. I know I was a complete ass the whole week but felt powerless to turn it around.
The last day Barb and I just spent time together and it was nice, but I knew something had to change.
When we got home, I went to see my doctor and did some bloodwork. My testosterone was near rock bottom and so I was prescribed some injectable supplements. Nothing like giving yourself a shot in the ass once a week plus two subcutaneous jabs in the thigh twice a week.
But no miraculous comeback happened.
Then, two weeks before my left shoulder was to be repaired, I was dragging off some big branches from my property on my Honda quad when I lost control and the front end slammed down, pulling my full weight down and completely ripping the rest of my left shoulder. My arm dangled helplessly, and the pain seared across my upper body. The surgeon prescribed me some pain meds and told me the only way to fix it was to just do the procedure.
So, on February 14, Barb drove me to the surgery center. I checked in and waited to be called back. An old man sat near me, hacking and coughing. I fully expected him to expel a piece of his lungs onto the floor.
The surgery went well. I was home on Thursday afternoon, and Monday, Barb drove me to physical therapy. The PT removed my bandages and re-fitted my sling. She told me I was to heal for two weeks and then we would start the torture.
On the way home, Barb asked me if I wanted to go on a walk.
Honestly, I didn’t. I love walking as it’s where I get all of my creative ideas, but would rather walk alone. When I walk with Barb, she uses the time to vent about whatever is bothering her. When she does, she gets worked up and starts walking faster. I’m exhausted trying to keep up, not super interested in what she’s bitching about, and too out of breath to respond.
Today was no different. But I was really sweating. Interesting since it was a cold February day.
When we got home, I really started feeling bad. I took a COVID test. It was positive. I’m certain that old man in the waiting room gave it to me.
Barb wanted me to isolate in the back half of our small home, but I had no TV or internet back there. Plus it was inevitable I’d somehow give it to her. I told her I would get a hotel in Dickson since I had a bunch of Hilton points.
Now I was healing alone, trying to get dressed by myself, sick as a dog, and trying to give myself a shot with one arm. I still had my office so I could work during the day, but it was depressing.
Physical therapy started two weeks later but wasn’t nearly as bad as I thought it would be, and my PT marveled at my recovery.
I gave Barb a certificate for pottery lessons for Christmas, so she started classes in March. She really enjoyed it. She encouraged me to try it, so I signed up for a sculpting class. That’s when things started to improve.
As I worked the clay in my hands, I could feel stress and tension leaving me. It came naturally to me, and I loved it.
About that time, Barb commented that I ate way too much. She was right. I would finish off whatever I cooked and if there were any leftovers, I would just go ahead and eat them. Travel didn’t help. I would usually go out to eat by myself after a long day of workshops, order an appetizer made for four and an entrée and eat it all. She showed me a photo of me when I weighed 184, back in 1995. I told her I could never get back down to that weight. She disagreed.
She suggested I try not to eat everything and stop when I was full.
Good luck with that.
But I tried. At first it was just leaving some food on my plate. It was hard at first, but after awhile became easier. Then I would leave more and more behind.
In June, I had my right rotator cuff replaced. As I weighed in before surgery, I was shocked to see I was right at 204. 20 pounds gone and I hadn’t really noticed.
Surgery went well and recovery was even faster.
In July, we flew to Las Vegas to visit our son Dustin and his partner Yuze. Dustin creates house music as a hobby. If you’ve never heard of it, it’s a fast-paced type of music that just flows on an eight-count beat. I thought about walking to it.
He made me a Spotify playlist and when I got home, I told Barb I wanted to walk alone with headphones to this music to try it. She agreed and I did.
That same 3.1 mile walk I dreaded flew by. I finished in 57 minutes and felt like I had a great workout. Plus, I felt recharged and energized.
The second half of 2023 was a comeback. By the end of the year, I was down around 195 and was physically and mentally in a much better place.
Which meant 2024 was the year I was hoping 2023 would be. While professionally it was my slowest business year, I grew personally and professionally in much different ways. I learned to embrace art and use it as part of my daily routine. I’ve kept up my walking, getting that time down to an average of 43 minutes. The “mindful eating” thing seems to be normal now. I’m at a point where I only eat half of my food when I go out and just cook less at home. The best part is I can eat and drink whatever I want, just less of it. I used to be able to eat anyone under the table. Now I can’t imagine being that stuffed anymore. As of today, I dance right about 172 on the scale. I haven’t been that weight since I was 14. Honestly, I’m thinking this routine is something I can do long term. I’ve already been at it over a year.
I know we all expect some sort of miracle on January 1. The truth is, it’s just a date on your calendar. And nothing is going to miraculously happen. All changes come from different actions we take.
I’m not sure what 2025 holds. I believe for me my Third (and final) Act began in 2020 so who knows but I’m certainly open to the possibilities.
With that, here are my suggestions for getting ready for 2025:
- Don’t go crazy with big resolution. Big resolutions will just result in big disappointments.
- Resist the temptation to resolute with something new. Better to do more of something good you’re already doing (or less of something you shouldn’t be doing) that to try and reinvent the wheel.
- Don’t be disappointed if things don’t turn out as good as you expected. Remember that my down years of 2022 and 2023 were setups for a much better 2024 and hopefully well-beyond.
Happy New Year!