FLIP FLOPPING . . .

So like most people I hate being wrong. Even worse, I hate having to admit I’m wrong. There is something so, well, wrong about having to eat crow ―maybe with a little butter it’s not so bad― and ‘fess up to another human being that my thoughts, actions, opinions or fashion choices leave something to be desired. It doesn’t matter how big or small the issue in question is, it is the fact that I have to acknowledge out loud I may have missed the mark, dropped the ball, erred and found myself to be wanting.

I don’t know about you, but I don’t want to look that closely into the mirror and see all the bumps and blemishes I’ve spent a lifetime trying to conceal under that thin veneer known as smug and sanctimonious self-righteousness. After fifty-one years on the planet, I’ve had ample opportunity to embrace and discard many beliefs, truths and disastrous hairstyles. What I once considered immutable reality often turned out to be questionable illusion. I’ve wondered about a great many things over the years, for instance: Why does The Bachelor needs writers? It’s gotten to the point where I wonder if the moon is not, in fact, made of green cheese!

What has precipitated this foray into the deep, dark recesses of my soul? It’s . . . exercise. I know, I’ve touted the benefits of couch potato-ness for years. I could quote dubious studies on the dangers of sweat and raising one’s heart rate to nominal levels. I truly believed opening the fridge would tone your arms― providing you did it 50,000 times a day, but still. I have been forced to shatter my conviction on this front based on one irrefutable phenomenon ― experience. Yes, I have been going to the gym (mostly) regularly and based on the sense of well-being and the unexpected amount of energy gained, I have had to re-evaluate my position and conclude that exercise is, contrary to everything I previously held sacred, good for you.

You do not know how hard it is for me to admit that not only to myself but to Daughter #1 who kept touting the almost spirituality-ness of exercise and finally cajoled me into joining. And like any good mother, I did it to get her off my back please her. Little did I know that the benefits of working out far outweighed the costs (i.e. losing one hour every other day to the elliptical). On a side note, I discovered HGTV as there is nothing else to do while whiling away that hour except watch the tiny TV attached to those torture machines serotonin enhancing apparatuses. As I don’t have any ear buds I have to read the closed captions, a tricky maneuver and is an exercise in itself to accomplish that feat while one is exercising, but that’s another story.

Fortunately, we humans are blessed with the ability to reason and are more than able to change our minds when new facts come to light. This is a good thing. If changing our minds were met with derision and condemnation by our compatriots why, we’d still be living in caves and eating twigs. There’d be no Carnival Cruises for fear of sailing off the edge of the earth. And I’m pretty sure chocolate would never have been invented and that would be a monumental travesty of justice.

While I have had an epiphany on this particular topic, rest assured I’m not about to suddenly publicize all the errors of my ways. It will always rankle me to my bones to own up to my erroneous miscalculations but I have devised a way to preserve my honor and integrity when one or more of my hard fought for delusions turns out to be inaccurate. I will humble myself enough to admit that while I am certainly not wrong, I may be. . .

Not entirely right . . .

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