Burger, Fries, Spin

            My sister Rosie called me the other day and left a voicemail:  “I have a good topic for your blog,” she said, giggling.  “I’m eating a burger and fries to have energy for spin class.” 
            I love that voicemail, and I love her.  I love that she’s eating a burger and fries in Philly, and maybe thinking about balance, about self-care, about acceptance of what we need, really need, in the moment even if it’s different from what we want to need, different from what we want to want.  Accepting that once in a while even a kale smoothie person could use a burger and fries, and it’s ok. 
            It’s not the beginning of the end.  We are resilient, we are grand, we can absorb the burger and fries into an otherwise healthy life just as we can absorb the occasional misstep, the grouchy mood, the words we regret, into an otherwise loving demeanor.  We apologize.  We move on, we get back on the path, and we rise.  We love ourselves no matter what. 
            We love ourselves even if we skip spin after the burger and fries and just nap.   We love ourselves even if we have to take two spin classes in a row to burn off energy that might otherwise manifest as twitchy dissatisfaction or leak out some other, less ok, way. 
            Like a dog that needs a good run or will eat up the furniture, on weekends I’ll tell Mike, “I gotta get some yayas out and then I’ll be back.”  He knows that means climbing up a mountain or a couple hours of yoga or tennis or beach walking or something physical and he encourages it.  “Please go,” he’ll say. 
            I’ll come back to the house and he and Ax will be cuddled up reading books or watching tv completely content and cozy.  They don’t have the same yayas as I do.  They have different ones.  I love them too.