Don Kowalewski
Writer. Ad Sales and Marketing. Social Media Content Creator. Aeropress Coffee. Makes the best salsa in the world.
So Much Goin’ On, It’s a Joy
So much goin’ on, I don’t know where to begin. So let’s just cover two things.
First, I might’ve made a poor decision when I recently bought a pair of jeans. They’re Levi’s. Good. They’re a 30-inch waist. That’s freegin’ awesome. Yes. I’m bragging about my recent weight loss. They’re light blue. Some people (I’ll call them “my daughter” and “my wife”) think they are lady-jeans. While some other people (I’ll call them Donnie Wahlberg, Billy Squier, and Tiffany) think they’re totally retro and cool. You be the judge. Vote below.
Second, in the last place you’d expect to be inspired (sarcasm), I really got inspired. At Church this past weekend, the Priest gave a rather long Homily. He’s usually pretty funny, but this time he was very serious. His Homily went on and on and he finally brought it around to a story about Mother Teresa and never being able to match her level of compassion, mercy, and giving. All true. But what struck me was how he challenged us that we could also never match her level of joy. He talked about how she didn’t simply do all her acts of charity out of duty and obligation and she didn’t do it while wallowing in pity and despair. No. She did amazing things with a smile on her face and with joy in her heart and that is truly the divinity behind her life’s work. He talked about how it was impossible to ignore her joy, energy, and charisma.
Then the Priest made us laugh, which is his way, until eventually he got super serious again by pointing out that, no, unless you and I give away all our worldly possessions and spend the rest of our lives feeding the poor and caring for the sick, no, we can never match her level of charity. But, we can match her joy.
In whatever we do, we should be joyful, and it will be impossible for others to ignore and impossible for them not to admire us and be inspired by us.
This smacked me in the face. This reminded me of a wonderful person I work with who does, indeed, seem to go through her life full of joy, and last week, I was rude to her. Then I had a less-than-comfortable conversation with a client. Why? That shouldn’t happen because I admire this particular client and am incredibly impressed with how much success he’s had so quickly. When I talk with him, he should know that I want some of that success and brilliance to rub off on me. When my joyful co-worker stops by my cube to give me a high-give or throw a wadded up ball of paper at me . . . I should soak it in and return the favor. I mean, I make time for the people who stop at my cube and wanna gossip and complain . . . why couldn’t I make time for a little silliness, kindness, and a random high-five?
Shame. On. Me. Shame for being rude and not welcoming and matching her joy. And more than that, shame on me for not living with joy. I’m healthy. I have food and shelter and a house full of people who love me. Why shouldn’t I be joyful in everything I do?
It’s probably more than 50% of the reason I like Chazzano Coffee. The coffee is great and always freshly roasted. But the owner is joyful about what he does and it’s contagious and probably makes the coffee taste better.
If I can make one change over the next 40 days (which I’m calling Lent Part 2), it’s bringing joy back into my day.
OK. Back to my jeans. What do you think?
Risk Taking
Am I a risk-taker? Are you? Do you want to be a risk-taker? Do I? Was I a risk-taker at one point? On a scale of 1 to 10, with “10” being the riskiest most fearless person and 1 being the least, where do I fall on that spectrum. At one point I balanced a writing-blogging hobby-slash-side-business and a salsa hobby-slash-business and a full-time job. Now I don’t. Why? Too busy? Too scared?
Great video here from Ramit Sethi. I like his message and don’t let the website fool you because it’s called “I Will Teach You to Be Rich” as if it’s money, money, money and no work and passive income and all that crap. He gets it. In his eBlast today he talks about his youthful fantasy that being “rich” meant walking into a car dealership and pointing to the most expensive car and saying, “gimme that one.”
That isn’t necessarily “rich”. It means you have cash, sure, and there’s a comfort with that. But “rich” is something else.
Oh, and his other message . . . have fun. Be bold. Don’t be afraid to make a mistake and then course-correct. Have fun. Be joyful. Tune in tomorrow and I’ll tell you a tale of joyfulness I can’t wait for you to read.
Fear, Loathing, Hesitation, and Whining
I’m not a firefighter.
I’m not a cop.
I’m not serving in our military and I’m not deployed to a war zone.
I’m not a tight-rope walker.
Why do I bring this up?
I listened to Tim Ferriss’s recent Podcast titled, “How to Overcome Fear – Lessons from Firefighter and Luger, Caroline Paul,” and something really struck me . . . my “fear” is not real fear. Do you “fear” things that, truly, shouldn’t invoke fear and the natural biological reactions that usually accompany a dangerous situation? I remember one time, when my first-born was really small, I was out for a walk pushing her in a rickety stroller, and a stray pit-bull approached us. This thing didn’t look like it was doing well – it was trotting, but limping, and sat down. Then got up and started walking, again. It came right up and started sniffing my daughter and I tried to spin the stroller around and put myself between the dog and my 1-year-old. The pit-bull didn’t like this and my quick movements made it angry. The pit-bull stopped and barked. I grabbed my daughter out of her safety buckles and lifted her over my shoulder. She started crying. She was afraid. I was afraid. Dogs, I’ve been told, sense fear. The dog got excited because, now, the toy (my daughter) or meal (again, my daughter) it wanted was being taken away, and was making noise, and I was making quick, jerky, defensive movements. I tried to remain calm, fully aware that acting and being excited would be seen as aggressive. The dog started jumping on me. Kinda playfully. But kinda aggressive. Pit-bulls are full of muscle and strength. I spotted a fenced-in yard about a hundred feet away. I began slowly walking towards this yard with my daughter on my shoulder (still crying …the dog definitely startled her), and leaving the stroller in the road. The dog started barking more and more (I think it was barking, “give me the baby and no harm will come to you, old man …and I’ll only eat one leg …I promise.”) It was walking and barking a few feet behind me. My plan was to throw my daughter over the fence and then jumped the fence, myself, in hopes the standard chain link fence would be tall enough to foil the dog’s pursuit. The dog’s barking turned to angrier snarling as I got to the fence and moved my crying daughter from my shoulder gently to the ground in this stranger’s yard. Snarling. Barking. Then it was my turn to hop the fence and when I quickly (quick movements don’t keep a dog calm) jumped onto the fence to throw myself over, the pit-bull saw this as aggression and bit my leg and jumped at the fence. His jaws didn’t lock. He loosened his grip to try for another chomp and because I was falling over the fence, my leg went flying and I fell over (almost on top of my daughter sitting on the ground crying). The dog was angry. Barking. Snarling. Jumping on the fence. I grabbed my daughter and went to this stranger’s back porch to catch my breath and calm down and . . . and I really don’t know what else. If that dog had jumped the fence, these people weren’t home, and I was trapped in their yard. Luckily, the dog ran back and forth along the fence. Barking. Jumping on the fence. Then it ran quickly around the perimeter (smart fuckin’ dog) trying to find an opening or get a better view, but the fence was enough. I knocked a few times on the homeowner’s door wall (or sliding glass door for those not from Michigan), but they weren’t home. I calmed my crying daughter and pulled up a chair at their patio set.
And waited. 
The pit-bull eventually got bored and slowly walked away. When it was out of site, and was out of site for 5-minutes, I hopped the fence. Got the stroller and put my daughter in it. And then I very, very (very) quickly got the two of us home. Quite an adrenaline rush. Quite a lot of fear. Quite a feeling of helplessness.
Quick aside to dog-lovers and tough-guys . . . you can judge me for being afraid, but I was. This dog was big, had no collar, and was aggressive. Sure, some of you would’ve probably knelt down in non-threatening way and calmed the dog. Fair enough. But I was scared and had read and heard enough stories about stray pit-bulls mauling small children and old men, so I wasn’t going to channel my inner-Crocodile Hunter.
What’s the point of all of this? Well, sometimes I’ll sit and wonder why I’m “scared to make a tough phone call” and I think I’m not alone. If I was alone, and crazy about every-day bullshit “fear”, there wouldn’t be hundreds of articles about overcoming fear of public speaking, cold-calling, dating, opening a business, writing a book, or dozens of other things (my favorite …”fear of failure.”).
An angry pit-bull made me scared. But today, I’m going to start differentiating real terror and the anxiety that comes with it (like knocking on the door of a drug dealer’s house with a gun drawn like a police officer) and being slightly-uncomfortable about a conversation, phone-call, or project.
I’m Ruined!
Something is seriously, seriously wrong. I spent the entire Lent doing the Whole30, which is a giant fast where I avoided all packaged and processed foods. If it had any processing done to it at all, I couldn’t eat it. No bread. No alcohol. No pasta. No yogurt. No preservatives. Basically, if the label had any added sugar or anything that wasn’t a raw food item, I didn’t eat it.
The good part of that was I lost 12 pounds and 2-inches off my waist. But, the entire time, I was waiting for Easter and I had this whole pig-out plan. I was going to have a small Hungry Howie’s pizza and a whole order of Howie bread all to myself, and I was going to wash it down with big, icy Pepsi.
And then, Easter came, and I had a drink (a Manhattan, sweet) and it didn’t fulfill me. I had a ham sandwich, deviled eggs, desserts, cupcakes, and everything else I could get my hands on and …again …it wasn’t as awesome as I’d hoped. And Monday came and my wife and kids were gone and I could’ve eaten anything I wanted and …ya know what? Nothing that usually sounded really, really good actually sounded good at all. I didn’t want a Hungry Howies’ buffet. I didn’t want a pint of ice cream all to myself. I didn’t want to chow down on all my kids Easter candy.
Mind you, I’m not craving vegetables, either, but the normal “bad foods” that I’ve always said I can’t resist (chocolate chip cookies or Girl Scout cookies), I’m not eating.
Whole30 might’ve ruined me. Maybe later in the week I’ll get my appetite back for a whole box of Tagalongs or Nutty Bars in the afternoon.
I hope.
So Excited
I’m not going to lie … going on the Whole30 and losing all this weight hasn’t diminished my cravings in any way, shape, or form. I curse the world and the Lord above every time my kids grab a couple of Girl Scout cookies for a bedtime snack and I can’t have a few myself. I am angry when pizza and breadsticks is the quick go-to dinner on some busy evening. I want a Manhattan, sweet …dammit …I want one. Or a whisky ginger-ale.
This all ends, or has the potential to end tomorrow or Sunday if I keep being Lenty until Sunday. Then I’ll gorge on fresh bread, ham sandwiches, kielbasa, deviled eggs, deserts, and I’ll eat jelly beans and chocolate candy until I feel like I’m going to throw up. It will be glorious. And then, I have this other plan . . . Tuesday night, I’ll be home alone (my wife is taking the kids and dog outta town to see her parents for a few days) and I won’t lie …I’m going to eat an entire Hungry Howie’s cheese and pepperoni pizza and an entire box of Tag a’ Longs all by myself that night. With ranch and a big glass of milk.
Chances are, I’ll be sick to my stomach and have breathing issues that night.
Then …my goal is to keep doing what I’m doing in some modified-whole way and keep being 155 pounds and feeling great.
The question becomes …what does that next phase look like?
This Is Going to Sound Like Bragging and Now What?
I’ve had a great Lent. Easily my best Lent ever. And not just because I sacrificed and dieted and feel great, but because I did all the things I did for the right reason. And didn’t cheat. Here’s my confession … I always cheat at Lent. I sneak a burger on a Friday. I take Sunday’s off from whatever I’ve given up. And, then I always find other excuses …like, hey, I’m not eating bread, except for St. Patrick’s Day …and on Pancake Saturdays. Oh, and Sundays.
But this time, by some divine inspiration, I stuck with the Whole30 and the results have been dramatic. Astounding, in fact. I was inspired by the journey of m5carolin, I won’t lie.
I weigh 155 pounds as of the writing of this. I began lent at 167 pounds. I haven’t had a breathing issue or wheezing or coughing in weeks. I tried on a pair of pants, today, with a 30-inch waist. Someone at work told me, “if you lose anymore weight, we’re going to have an intervention for you and your eating disorder.”
Yay, me. I’m not bragging …I’m just proud of myself, and I happen to have a blog.
Now the question is …now what? Easter is Sunday and I have every intention of eating all the great food that comes with Easter, including the fresh baked bread smothered in butter. I make no apologies. And, probably Monday or Tuesday, I’m going to have the thing I’ve been craving for almost all of Lent …a small Hungy Howie’s pepperoni and mushroom pizza and an order of Howie Bread. And if nobody’s looking, maybe for lunch on that Monday or Tuesday, I’m going to have a huge Penn Station Philly Cheesestake and fries.
Then what? Well, I want to stay this way. I think I’m going to continue to be good and disciplined. I hope the face-stuffing I have planned doesn’t unravel all the work I’ve done in the same way a guy who’s managed to quit smoking has a single cigarette and then is right back to his pack-a-day ways. With God as my witness, I think I can do it. I think I can have Easter Sunday, and then a really bad bender on Tuesday, and get right back to this “whole living” …which also includes no snacking and no eating after dinner.
That’s my promise to myself. Never become addicted to bread, pasta, sugar, and processed food again. I’ll pick a bad meal or snack on the weekends only, moving forward, but Sunday through Thursdays are going to be “whole”.
Hope you had a good Lent. I had the Best Lent Ever.
Shirt Test
I’ve fallen in love with Mizzen+Main shirts. But at $125 …ouch. Yes. I can justify the cost because if I get 4 of 5 of them at $500 total investment, and wash and wear and never take another shirt to the drycleaner again, in theory, they pay for themselves in a year. Then I read some online comments and someone suggested the $32 Old Navy Slim-Fit No-Iron Signature Shirt is almost the exact same shirt. I’m ordering one tonight. White. I’ll report back.
The Whole30 Success and Myth
This Whole30 thing is a huge success. I think it’s the first diet I’ve ever tried where I was able to resist cravings. I’m able to resist a piece of pizza for lunch while listening to the radio in my car. I’m able to resist the donuts in the break room. I’m able to resist snacking in the evening. Is it pure will-power? I think, as I’ve proven throughout my life, that I don’t have much will-power …but …maybe by going “whole” and working and fighting like hell to eliminate all grains, sugar, and any foods with chemicals on the label, the random cravings that often spell my doom, those cravings that hit me at about 9:30 at night …they haven’t been as strong.
Don’t get me wrong …if you told me, oh, hey, you missed this chapter where The Whole30 says after twelve days you should have a high-fat, high-carb day to jumpstart your metabolism, I’d probably head to Hungry Howie’s right now and get myself a small cheese, mushroom, and pepperoni pizza and a whole order of Howie Bread, and I’d eat …it …all. Then, I’d buy some chocolate chip cookies and eat all of those, too.
I make no apologies. I like food that tastes good.
But here’s the thing …when I broke the rule and stepped on the scale today on Day 28, I was under 160 pounds and …wow!
The Whole30 works!
The Best Podcast I’ve Heard in a While
I believe in Divine Inspiration. I believe that sometimes, when I pray (and I believe in prayer because, well, at the risk for making my readers uncomfortable, I believe in Jesus and God and I believe there is some good in praying to them), someone is listening and sometimes, whomever that is listening – Jesus, God, Angels, spirits – guide me. Trust me, I don’t have the whole theology thing figured out …not even close …but I believe I’ve been guided at times.
I feel like Divine Inspiration was in play when, after recently skipping a few of Tim’s podcasts, I noticed Tim Ferriss, of 4 Hour Work Week fame, had Seth Godin on his podcast. If you don’t know Seth Godin … you should. OK, let me put it this way …if you don’t know Seth Godin, and you’d like to take my advice, listen to Seth on Tim’s podcast. You can get it on iTunes, stream it by clicking here, or just go to this blog. You’ll learn who Seth is, how he’s been successful, you’ll hear two successful dudes riffing back and forth, and I think you’ll want to start being a better version of yourself.
There you go. Someone simple, today. You can knock this out on your commute (seriously …turn off Sports Talk or News Talk for a round-trip back and forth to work …trust me …Trump will still be crazy, tomorrow, and nothing all that exciting is happening in NFL free-agency).
More about the Tim Ferriss podcasts in my next post.
A Too-Long To-Do List
I pride myself at being the model of efficiency. At times …I really am. At times, I feel in control and in that state of “flow” where I feel like Neo at the end of The Matrix when the bullets appear to be moving so slow he casually leans out of the way as they harmlessly pass by.
Today, however, and for about the past two weeks, those bullets are hitting their target …me.
How does one dig out? How does one regain control and get back out in front of deadlines and projects and ideas?
This is probably an age-old dilemma. My to-do list is longer than I have hours in the day. My cognitive load is at it’s breaking point.
Cognitive load is a term most often associated with individuals learning something. I’m not in training or anything like that, but I think it can also apply to the modern-day worker who is trying to succeed at work while also succeeding at home as a father, as a husband, while simultaneously trying to pursue a passion-project (writing, golf, model train, pick-up soccer game, exercise, etc).
Last I checked, each day is only 24 hours. Seven of those hours need to be for sleep, leaving 17 hours for everything else. Eight solid hours should go to the job, right? For me, an hour is spent commuting. Hmmm. So that leaves 8 hours for me.
When I put it that way, I guess that’s lots of time. What do I do with those 8 hours?
Many time management experts say a person, a person who feels crunched for time, should journal all their activities in a day …including the social media stuff and small talk. This exercise does one of two things …(1) it forces you to waste less time when you feel guilty logging something like, “stood and watched the coffee brew in the kitchen for 4-minutes,” or, “wiped down and dusted my desk at work for 3-minutes,”. Or, this exercise (2) shows you all the things you do and how you don’t group and cluster the activities, so you essentially are your own worst enemy.
Today. I will journal. Actually, all this week, I’ll journal. First thing on the list …7:55 a.m. – 8:20 a.m., blogged.
It’s Getting Easier – The Whole30
It’s the 24th day of Lent and the 24th day of my Whole30 experiment. I remember reading the first few chapters of that book a few weeks ago and what jumped out was the painstaking detail the authors put into describing each day of the Whole30 and how people feel each day. It was doom and gloom. I thought to myself, well, this must be for people who are grossly overweight, horribly out-of-shape, and can’t even find the produce section at the grocery store.
Me? I’m barely 10 (or 15 pounds) heavier than I want to be and most medical experts wouldn’t even call me overweight. I rationalized when I start eating only good food, I’d be happy.
I won’t compare myself to a drug addict or alcoholic, but I’ll say this …NOT putting sugar, bread, or booze into my mouth has been torture. Ever bump into someone who’s only a few weeks into the process of quitting-smoking or cutting-back-on-coffee? If you have, that person is grumpy and irritable. Family members will tell you how difficult it was for them coping with the person quitting smoking.
I have been very, very irritable these past few weeks. I’ve cursed (under my breath) my family as they eat fresh bakery bread, when they pop popcorn on the stove and drizzle butter over it, and when they bake and eat cookies …oh, my daughter makes incredible peanut butter cookies, and I often have eaten four or five at a sitting with a big glass of milk. I’m so happy when I’m eating cookies and milk. That’s my fix.
So here I am on day-24 and for the first time in, I’d say, a decade, I’m not hearing McDonald’s, Subway, Five Guys, or Potbelly (or my new discovery, Penn Station) calling to me in the 11 o’clock hour right before lunch. When donuts and bagels get delivered to the office by clients, or the boss brings them in …I walk right by and don’t feel like I’m the victim of something.
This is good. It takes time. I think my body and mind were (and still are) going through detox. In the past, stress and guilt could be wiped away by a quick run to Speedway for a .75 cent pack of Nutty Bars. Or maybe two packs. Sometimes if I had a little cash in my pocket, I’d head to the bakery section at Busch’s market and buy a six-pack of these amazing chocolate chip cookies. Or I’d head to Little Ceasers for a bag of breadsticks. Soooo good. Soooo garlicky. And I leave the office for the, oh, 45-minutes it takes to go grab a snack and “clear my head” …but it’s not actually a solution in any form.
Whoa. Did I tangent, or what?
The point of all this is simple . . . it gets easier. Ten years ago when I said I’d try and join my wife and run a 5K, the first time I ran (run-slash-walk), it was hard. I felt so weak and defeated compared to the 18-year-old me who’d neglected his body for more than a decade. And then it got easier. And eventually it turned into my competing in some triathlons.
Now I need to turn those lunch-time runs for carbs into something better . . . because clearing my head or getting away from my glowing monitor for a few minutes isn’t a sin. I need to use that time to do something in the positive, and not stuff my face with tasty food.
15-minutes a day. It’s all it takes. Start something. And each day, it gets easier.
Don Kowalewski 