Oh my God, what if
you wake up some day,
and you're 65, or 75,
and you never got your
memoir or novel written,
or you didn't go swimming
in those warm pools and
oceans all those years
because your thighs were jiggly
and you had a nice big
comfortable tummy;
or you were just so
strung out on perfectionism
and people-pleasing
that you forgot to have
a big juicy creative life,
of imagination and radical
silliness and staring off
into space like when
you were a kid?
It's going to break your heart.
Don't let this happen.
(Anne Lamott)
