I want to talk about fall today. I don’t care if I’m branded as basic for saying this: I LOVE FALL. I love EVERY PART OF IT. I love brisk, crisp days made cozy by thick sweaters and warm-but-still-fashionable boots. I love candles with vague names like “Autumn” and “Leaves” and “Hayride.” I love going for walks and stepping on crunchy leaves. I love cider mill donuts and whiskey ciders sipped by crackling campfires. And I also love pumpkin. Unabashedly. Wholeheartedly. Truly, madly, deeply, all of that. I love it.
This week, after two and a half years of eating mindfully, I finally reached my goal weight. That means that I’m 22 pounds down from where I was at my heaviest in 2014. Exciting, right? I felt like I should have been excited when I stepped on the scale, but then I came to the staggering realization that, even though I focused on getting there for so long, I just didn’t care about that number anymore. Why?