Ok, there he goes again, mentioning that book! Self Help books and I, not a successful mix. But this was the second time he had brought this up. Maybe Dr. D really was serious? What was the name of it again? Younger Next Year For Women. Doesn’t sound bad, but I knew my history with self help books; when I did occasionally buy them, with the best of intentions, I rarely made it past the first chapter. Why would this be any different?
I stood in Chapters reading the back of the book –a pink book, for women, the color already was turning me off. How typical – pink for women!
“It’s got all the tools that women need to achieve longer, sexier and more passionate lives.” Ok, sounds good.
“Smart women don’t grow older, they grow younger.” Wow, that sounded even better. Younger!? What did I have to do to get this youth, be sexier and more passionate. Maybe I would get past the first chapter of this book. But was I really in that bad a shape? Had things really gone that far downhill for me? Was I really that unhealthy? I had just returned from Paris, come on, Paris! One can only return from the City of Lights on a high and feeling fabulous, not tired, out of shape and portly.
Time to take stock. A year in Paris; it had been a drastic lifestyle change for me. For a year I:
- ate what I wanted
- drank at will
- barely exercised
- was sleep deprived –did not want to miss out on anything Paris had to offer.
- yes, packed on a few pounds in the process.
It did not sound all that bad, actually it had all been pretty darn excellent.
But I was in my mid 40’s. Maybe not the best time to be living this indulgent, carefree, sloth like way of life.
At the age of 26 I had also lived in Paris for a year. It was a student year, studying for my Masters and it was a very good year indeed. Funny, lifestyle wise it had been a similar year as I:
- ate what I wanted
- drank at will
- barely exercised, although I did actually belong to a gym at Place Beaubourg, Espace Vit’Halles, following around uncoordinated hairy skinny Frenchmen in neon spandex who were trying to lead aerobic classes (it was the 90’s after all, neon and spandex.)
- was sleep deprived - did not want to miss out on any student parties.
- yes, packed on a few pounds in the process.
- and yes, the occasional studying was involved.
But my doctor had not looked at me with disapproval upon my return, suggesting twice that I read a book about being younger next year. What was different?
Almost 20 years was the difference!
I realized that recovery would take slightly longer as a 45 year old, versus recovery as a 26 year old. Maybe it was time to really listen to Dr. D.
Younger Next Year For Women it was going to be.
I walked to the cashier, my girlie pink self help book in hand.
Not sure where the 20 years have gone, but yes, apparently they do make a difference!
Next Post: Bread in Paris. Yes, part of the problem!
