As a child, I was a voracious reader. I loved the English language and its ability to carry me into remarkable worlds.

I was a loner, daydreamer, and all around strange kid to most adults, including my own parents. At recess I would read, never the social butterfly, lost in a fantasy the author had spun for me, my mind released to explore imaginary realms. My love of the English language is second to none. It has been my liberator and ever-present companion throughout my childhood.

As such, I have always had a fine understanding of this beautiful tongue with all its peculiarities and degrees. I attribute it to the ten thousand hour rule.

My husband, in some strange way I’ve yet to comprehend, is also passionate about my language. He enjoys the way specific words roll off the tongue and uses them consistently - in the wrong context.

Often I stand by helplessly, witness to the slaughter of my beloved dialect, yearning to correct him and/or beat him up. Yet I remind myself that to do so would undermine him and likely chip away at the joie du vivre that resides in him.

That same spirit is evident in his craft. He is a hands-on builder and renovator whom I’ve challenged with many difficult projects. Not only has he risen to the occasion, but surpassed in most situations. He built our club.

This is his forte, his thing. Often times in my quest to discover the different aspects of his craft, I’ve asked questions that sounded valid, but that I later learned were obtuse. How did I realize this? Not by a stinging retort, but by the tiny grin fighting hard not to become a laugh. Or by the silence that follows stupid question in which he tries to find the easiest explanation that I might grasp. Sometimes, by the look of sheer puzzlement on his face, a look that I’ve worn in his presence numerous times over the years.

It is then that I realize he too is trying not to undermine me. Nor does he want to discourage me from asking future questions. Maybe, just maybe, he may not want to chip away at my joie du vivre. It is then that I realize I could stand there all day quoting Shakespeare to a leaky faucet, all to no avail.

It’s about acceptance, and that acceptance is the cornerstone of any relationship, including diet and fitness. Let’s face it; the older we get, the less likely we are to give up those things that bring us pleasure; like food and wine for example. Everybody wants to have their cake and eat it too, and that’s okay! No one should think any less of themselves for it. A desire is a conscious impulse toward something that promises enjoyment or satisfaction. It’s something we’re hard-wired to experience. Certain desires should be curbed, and as human beings, we know the difference between right and wrong, and food is not wrong…in moderation. Of course, if you really want to combat the repercussions of giving in to food desires, the ONLY solution is exercise. Calories in, calories out…that’s it. I never said acceptance was easy.
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