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I quit sugar four weeks ago today, and I am amazed at how much energy, motivation, focus, and contentment I have gained as a result.  I’ve also dropped about 20 pounds and went from a size 28 to a size 24 in these four weeks, and I haven’t even made regular exercise part of my regimen yet (that’s in my plans for the next four weeks.)

When I say I quit sugar, I mean I stopped eating refined carbohydrates: candy; junk food; fast food; foods made with white flour, white rice, skinless potatoes; processed “food;” and artificial and refined sweeteners.

What better day of the month to release that which no longer serves me, that which harms me and holds me back, than the night before the new moon?

I feel like I've been carrying the weight of the grieving world on my shoulders for the last few weeks.  Perhaps for the last few months.  And I've come very close to my breaking point.

Some people have the impression that positive thinking is all glitter and rainbows and a river in Egypt.

It’s true that positive means happy, good, and encouraging.  However, positive also means helpful, constructive, and tangible, or real.

The stories we tell have power.  They teach.  They influence the opinions and behaviors of ourselves and others.  They influence how we experience our lives and the world.

Vivian Gornik wrote a great book for creative nonfiction writers called The Situation and the Story.  It’s short, entertaining, educational, and I highly recommend it.

This past Valentine’s Day I wrote about celebrating Valentine’s As a Self-Married Woman, and in that post I quipped that I’d never forget my anniversary.

Well, I did.  So much has happened this year, and I filled my birthday with so many activities, that celebrating my first anniversary as my own wife completely slipped my mind.  Fortunately, I forgave myself…no flowers, chocolate, or wine necessary.  Okay, there may have been some chocolate...

While I was in labor with my stillborn baby, I remember telling my midwife that I spent the first thirty years of my life depressed and I would NOT allow this tragedy to drag me back there.  She smiled through her tears and told me I might not have a choice in the matter. 

Most people would call what happened to me a “near-death” experience, I suppose.  Afterall, I am alive to write about it, three and a half months later.

When I think of what it is like to nearly die, I think about the time that crazy person driving the semi nearly ran me off the interstate at eighty or so miles an hour.