Countdown To Change

The problem was very clear. It was me. I was holding myself back, five seconds at a time. - Mel Robbins

I made no resolutions for 2021, deciding instead to focus on my dreams and the small, daily tasks that move me toward them. I came to this determination after realizing that what I had managed to accomplish in 2020 came not from setting lofty goals or having a vision board but from making tiny, incremental changes and acting without thinking too much about it.

I lost 16 pounds in 2020, not by dieting, watching what I ate or exercising but by resolving to move my body every day. Not by remembering what I looked like when I was running half marathons or how it felt to fit into my skinny jeans, but by teaching myself to crave the outdoors; the sweet companionship of our dog, Buster; the joy of moving my body; the way my thoughts got crisper, clearer and more creative the farther I got from the house.

I practiced Mel Robbins’ Five Second Rule. Counting 5, 4, 3, 2, 1 then taking action. Making the call to a prospective client who hadn’t responded to my proposal. Setting aside the pile of other people’s writing I “had” to read, opening a Word document and beginning my own.

The first time I saw the call for submissions to Stories on Stage’s forthcoming 2020 anthology, I let the all-knowing little voice in the back of my head talk me out of sending anything in for consideration. That’s for published authors. Real writers. People with degrees and credentials. Not you. But when I saw a notice that the deadline had been extended for two weeks, I took it as a sign there might just be room for me. I channeled my inner Mel, counted down from five, chose three pieces and clicked ‘send.’ Three weeks later, the editors wrote to say they’d like to publish one of my pieces. In early January, another note arrived, saying they wanted a second one.

Mel Robbins maintains that the problem with trying to achieve your dreams by creating huge, lofty goals is that you’re less likely to achieve either. Taping a photo of yourself when you were twenty on the fridge or envisioning yourself living in your dream house on Maui doesn’t actually get you any closer to your desired outcome. In fact, you’re likely to feel worse in the day to day when the small, daily choices you’re making don’t appear to have any impact on your weight or your savings account. If anything, you’ll look at the photo on the fridge and reach for the cookie dough ice cream, discouraged that your brand-new clean eating habits haven’t moved the needle at all.

What does work, according to Mel, is to visualize not the final victory or the grand achievement, but the tiny, daily steps you need to get there. You, sweating on the treadmill to Lady Gaga’s Born This Way; savoring a bowl of juicy strawberries instead of the Ben & Jerry’s; drinking soda water instead of wine; lifting a box of books you weren’t strong enough to pick up a month earlier; setting the timer and writing for 15 minutes.

My small successes encouraged me and inspired me to do more. I began setting my alarm for 6:00 am, putting the phone out of reach and getting out of bed instead of hitting the snooze button three times or doom scrolling on Twitter until 6:45 am. I have been a night owl my whole life, but I have come to love those early morning hours when the house is quiet, and my time is my own.

I still have days when I don’t write a word, I eat chocolate chip cookies for dinner or I can’t find my “to do” list in the stacks of paper on my desk. Days when I lose sight of why those tiny tasks matter and forget their power to create change, if only I am patient. Then I remember what Mel said about Picasso. The 100 masterpieces he created in his lifetime out of a total of more than 50,000 pieces of art. The kind of accomplishment that comes from butt in chair and shitty first drafts, just as author Anne Lamott says. The way those small, courageous acts, done day after day, lead to lasting change or meaningful accomplishment.

Today, we got two minutes and eight seconds more daylight than yesterday. And tomorrow will be two minutes and eight seconds lighter than today. A change so slight it’s easy to miss. Only when we’re thirty or sixty days closer to spring do we notice how much longer the days are.

I don’t know what 2021 will bring. But every day a little more light returns. When I look out my office windows at the sun-dappled oaks, I don’t daydream about the half marathon I’m not remotely in shape to run. Instead, I remember the feeling of the sun on my face; I see Buster trotting joyfully next to me on the dirt trails near our house; I smell the flowers blooming by Folsom Lake. And I lace up running, shoes, grab Buster’s leash and head out the front door.

© Margo Fowkes, 2021. All rights reserved.