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)