My boss has one of those cheesy motivational-style posters on her wall that says "Don't Rest On Your Laurels". It's a large poster, in a frame, with no accompanying picture. It's just written in script across a nice mountainy cloudy scene. I was never quite sure what it meant, and without a picture to explain it to me, it was just one of those quasi-mysteries i always meant to investigate, but never remembered to do so until the next time i was sitting in her office looking at the poster.
I rather discovered the meaning the hard way.
Back around October of last year, i hit my 50 pound weight loss milestone. I was intensely proud of myself, and was just beginning to not mind the way my body looked in the mirror (i wouldn't go so far as to say i liked how i was looking, but i was getting there), when something happened. I'm not sure what it was, or how it happened, which means it must've crept up on me gradually. I do remember how it began, though. It began with a piece of pie. Lemon supreme, in case you're wondering.
There it was, sitting on a smallish dish in front of me, flaunting itself in all its tangy, lemony goodness; daring me to eat it. I was eyeballing it, and it was returning my gaze steadily, good old fashioned Western show down style, right there on the table.
"Eat me," it reasoned, "You deserve it after how hard you've worked. I'm just one piece! You even know i'm only ten points! Cut me in half, eat half of me for five! Come on, i'm your FAVOURITE!"
The pie was right: it WAS my favourite. What's not to love about a tangy blanket of lemon, gently snuggled over a thin mattress of cheesecake, with a button of whipped cream sitting like a little semi-sweet pillow at the head of the wedge? I had worked hard! I'd lost FIFTY pounds! And it took me almost a year to do it! If anyone deserved a piece of lemon supreme pie, my friends, i was most certainly that person! And if i only ate half of it, i could enjoy the flavour without the guilt!
Did you see that? That was a prime slice of rationalization i was having as an appetizer to the pie. Because if i had the pie sitting on one shoulder, whispering this insidious bullshit to me, then there was a bound and gagged miniature lump of fat sitting on my other shoulder, pleading with me not to go there, desperately trying to remind me what pie looked like once it'd found its way to my thighs. That "angel" on my other shoulder knew good and well that there was no way i was only going to eat half of that pie. As soon as i put the first forkful onto my tongue, that pie was as good as eaten; and if i hadn't been in public, i probably would've licked the plate. I was a good girl, though, i counted the ten points and faithfully crossed each one off of my bank of thirty five weeklies.
Over the next couple of months, that fifty pound milestone justified all sorts of bad eating behaviours. I completely ignored the fact that the milestone was starting to pass over the horizon back into unseen territory. Several months, and fourteen pounds later, i was sitting back in my boss's office, pondering the laurels. It occurred to me that i knew what laurels were, and that they were given out in wreathes as a prize in ancient Greece. I'd rested on mine, and the extra fourteen pounds was crushing them.
Success isn't a destination, it's a process and it requires a bit of effort to maintain. My problem was, though i hit a nice milestone, i was still miles away from my goal. If i was a marathon runner, it would have been the equivalent of hitting mile twenty, and then going home. So now i'm sitting here, pondering the lesson i've opted to learn the hard way. I've already been down on myself about it, and now i'm going to stop, dust myself off, and start looking back toward the horizon. The goal may no longer be in sight, but i've been there before, and i remember what it looks like.
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