I forget.

Sometimes in my effort to squeeze the most out of a day, a week, a month; I get so lost in the doing that I forget about just being.

This morning I started to type a completely different post when Angelo, my basset hound, jumped up off his chair and ran to the window, wagging.

Every morning he sits in the chair opposite me, while I read or write or do work and he looks out the window, waiting for the neighbors to walk their dogs down the driveway.

Then he runs to the window and wags and this morning, that moment brought me pure joy.

A few days ago I marked the one year anniversary of walking out the doors of the Maine Med cancer floor and ringing the bell for my last round of chemo.

It was late at night. I was filled with fluid from the mass dose of steroids, my eyes a pale pink from the previous 100 hours of poison that had been pumped into my body.

On the way out, with my Squishmallow under my arm, my friend and my wife at my side, I stole guilty glances into the other rooms. In doing laps with my IV pole, I passed these patients multiple times, aware that many people were never leaving the hospital.

I didn't realize it at the time, but I was registering the first parts of survivorship.

The guilt that, given a second chance, I was going to do more - to live my life at full tilt to honor all those who would never walk out of those doors.

When I look back on the past year, I feel like I've done quite a bit. Recently though, I've been way more caught up in the doing than the being.

I've been asking all of my clients what one thing they would like to focus on in these last four weeks of the year. There are many areas of health - so your focus might be physical, or maybe it's emotional, mental, or something else.

For me, I'm spending a bit more time "being." Which for me, means setting work and projects aside, and tuning in to my five senses a little more.

What do you want to focus on for December?

I'd love to hear from you.

Last week, on one of my walks I saw a praying mantis.

I usually see roadkill on my walks; squirrels that couldn't make up their mind and so a car made up their mind for them...so seeing the praying mantis was a nice break.

I googled the symbolism of the praying mantis and it turns out, it's a sign of good luck.

Which I'll take any old time, but especially now when I'm less than two weeks removed from my first stand up comedy performance.

I know I mentioned taking a stand up class a few weeks ago, but the truth is, I've wanted to try stand up comedy from the time I was 12 years old.

Once I learned that playing professional baseball was out.

My brothers and I had a VHS of stand up comedians that we'd ordered with Pop Tart box tops. Given that we didn't have cable, we had a short rotation of VHS tapes to watch, and this was in the mix.

I was absolutely enamored with the comedy, especially Paula Poundstone. So I memorized her routine, and started writing my own jokes.

Then one day in my seventh grade science class, I let it be known to my teacher that I wanted to try stand up comedy. He invited me to tell a joke, and I did.

It went over the way you think a 13 year old's joke might go over and I'll never forget what he said.

"It's all in the delivery. I could have told that joke and had everyone rolling on the floor."

His comment, and the tone that he used, made me feel so stupid. So stupid. I was full of regret for having said anything. Though it took me years to realize it, his response to my enthusiasm that day wounded me on multiple levels.

I completely abandoned any ideas about trying comedy after that.

I didn't realize just how much I'd taken that comment to heart until last year. Well over 30 years later.

If you've ever endeavored to write or create art and found yourself with a block, you may have come across the book "The Artist's Way." In it, she talks about the artistic wounds many artists have that they don't realize they have.

Maybe someone told you that you couldn't make a living with your music. Or that drawing was fine, but you should pursue graphic design instead of being an artist.

I'm going to make another clumsy segue here, but a relevant one nonetheless; those same kind of comments around fitness, nutrition and movement are what many of my clients carry.

Sometimes they don't even know that these comments have stuck with them.

Being told they were too slow, too uncoordinated, getting picked last for kickball; I have seen all of these wounds show up for people when it comes to trying new things.

Like strength training.

You might know that we feel hesitant or resistant to trying it, but you might not know why.

I have a client who was a Division I athlete who told a story about being shamed regarding her swimsuit and told to lose weight.

And many clients who endured side-ways comments and glances from well intending parents regarding food choices and their clothing choices.

A lot of these comments were made in passing, but the impact can last a lifetime.

We all carry emotional scars. But sometimes we don't recognize the ways these scars and experiences still affect us as adults.

The first step in making any kind of change is awareness. Which is why I mention this story at all - when we are aware of something and how we've been affected by it, we can learn to address it.

Once I remembered this comment from a teacher (I'd forgotten about it for a long time - but I lived with its effects nonetheless), I could take a look at my limiting beliefs about taking a class or trying an open mic night.

The process of change is awareness, unwinding (the belief or the habit), and then capacity building.

Is there something that you've always wanted to do or try but you think you never could do that? If so, do you know why?

A bald-faced lie.*

When it comes to nutrition, I try to nail the basics. I have a large regimen of supplements I take daily, I work hard to hit my five veggies per day, I drink the lawn clippings that are powdered greens, and I shoot for a minimum of 64 ounces of water (and no, sadly, I don’t count my coffee, otherwise I’d easily double that number).

While I try to focus on eating whole foods and avoiding processed stuff, I also have my 20% of the time (sometimes 30% or 40%) when I eat what I want. Usually on Friday nights.

And one of my favorite splurges is curly fries.

Looooooove me some curly fries.

Which is why, in perusing the internet for healthy recipes, zoodle curly fries caught my attention. Zoodles, if you’re unfamiliar, are strands of zuchinni that you spiralize into noodles. You can use them in place of pasta as a healthy alternative.

I’m not a huge fan of pasta, so I never mind the substitution. Which is why I thought I’d give the zoodle curly fries a whirl.

The end result?

Well, after dipping spiralized veggies in egg and rolling them around in a Parmesan cheese breading mixture, my hands were covered in something akin to baby vomit and the green strands on the baking sheet looked like a pile of grass-puke from my dog Vinnie.

Sheila popped out to the kitchen to survey my progress.

“Stop pretending that’s going to be a curly fry.”

I was hanging on to some optimism though. I mean they hadn’t even gone into the oven yet. I showed her the picture of the golden brown zoodle fries on my iPad and insisted that this was going to be a worthy, healthy alternative.

“Keep telling yourself that,” she said, walking away.

I looked from the picture back at my baking sheet of sadness.

Do you ever have that point in trying a new recipe when you realize that it’s going to be an epic failure? Every time you cook? No? Oh. Me either….

After an hour in the oven, I had baked baby vomit strands and the crushing realization that I’d been avoiding for so long.

It was time to call a spade a spade.

A zoodle is a zoodle. And nothing about a zoodle, baked, air fried (although I suspect this would be better), or otherwise is only ever going to be a zoodle. Nothing about a zoodle is going to come anywhere close to tasting like the hot, crispy deliciousness that is a curly fry.

I’m all for finding healthy alternatives when it comes to my nutrition. But, while I like habinaro baked chic peas and find them tasty, if I put more than three in my mouth at the same time they suck all of the saliva like the saltine-sponge that they are. And while I don’t mind them as a crunchy alternative, they are not Doritos.

Sometimes you want some variety and a healthy alternative to stay on par with your nutrition and zoodle fries, chic peas and soggy-home made kale chips are worth the effort.

But, as with putting cream in your coffee, life is too short to pretend that zoodle fries are curly fries.

Sometimes you just have to eat the curly fries.

*Most sources agree that the original expression, coined in the late 1600s, was actually barefaced lie. At that time, bare meant brazen or bold. At that time in history, almost all men sported a full set of whiskers, and it was considered quite daring or even audacious for a male to be clean-shaven, or barefaced. Eventually, the word for “hairless” went from bare to bald, and so did the description of a blatant fib.