Don Kowalewski
Writer. Ad Sales and Marketing. Social Media Content Creator. Aeropress Coffee. Makes the best salsa in the world.
On the Topic of Morning Routines
I go to bed at night with a plan in mind for the morning. I listen to Podcasts and read books about the importance of a morning routine.
I wake up and my bed it too cozy and I feel too tired. I hit the snooze or reset my alarm for 45-minutes later.
And when I finally drag myself outta bed, I’m rushing. A half-hour walk with my dog turns into a walk to the end of the street and back, just long enough for her to pee and poop. I don’t spend 5, 10, of 15 minutes meditating or praying. I churn out a hasty blog post like this. I don’t read the headlines. I delete a few of the emails I purposely subscribe to because I have this thing where I will only check my personal email at home and never at work. I don’t eat a good breakfast, because time is short.
I had a plan. I felt really good about it. I abandoned the plan before it even started.
How can I break that cycle? Why do I abandon my best-laid plans within 48-hours? Is it lack of excitement for what I’m committing to do?
Yesterday was a great day. I got up early. I prayed the Rosary while walking my dog and was completely in the moment, dedicating the Rosary to my son and my Uncle. My brain felt good all day long and I was better. Today? I’m already scrambling.
Stick to the plan. Follow through. And even if the night before you stay up too late, and maybe have a cocktail, don’t let your night-time you derail the morning-amazing-you. If it means 5-hours of sleep, live with those consequences. Do better the next night by going to bed early (and not having a cocktail).
That’s it. Make a plan. Stick to it.
Happy Anniversary!
Seems like a guy with a blog owes his wife more than a simple, “happy anniversary” Facebook post, right? The picture on the left is from a wedding we attended together in the late ’90s, I think. It definitely wasn’t our wedding, because I distinctly remember my wife’s dress was white on our wedding day. It was nineteen years ago, today, that we got married. It was Mother’s Day weekend. She bought me a watch on the eve of our wedding day. I just had that watch rebuilt and repaired.
I remember being nervous and excited on the eve of our wedding and we were just 23-years-old and I wasn’t expecting a gift. That watch, an antique-looking Citizen, is one of my prize possessions. It was such perfect, classy gift. It helped calm my nerves that night. What’s that, you ask? Isn’t it just a watch? Yes. It’s just a watch, and I’ve gotten a few since, but it was such a perfect watch, it was the first example of how well this woman knew me. I have exactly three watches and all of them were hand picked by my wife. Each is perfect.
She knows me better than anyone and better than I know myself.
I still remember, vividly, waking up at my parents house on the morning of my wedding day and looking out at a brilliant blue sky and thinking, hey, we’re going to have good weather for our wedding. This is gonna be great. “This” meant the day, the wedding, and the rest of our life together.
Truly. That moment and that morning still comes back to me in vivid, living color. I stared at the blue sky and wondered how other people greet the morning on the day they get married. I was fully awake and felt fully alive and excited. It was like Christmas morning, I guess . . . except I never remember a Christmas morning quite that clearly.
I just kept looking out the window, listening to the crows caw in the woods in my backyard and from downstairs I could hear my Mom and Dad talking, and a few other family members who were staying with us from out of town. Everyone was excited, but nobody was as excited as I was.
If my math is correct, my wedding day was the end of a 5-year courtship that started in the spring of 1992 when we both finally noticed each other. But I guess you could say it was the end of a 9-year crush, because I met her in the Fall of 1988. Yes, as a 15-year-old on my first day of school, she was the happiest, friendliest, nicest person I could possibly have met in my very first class on my very first day at a new school.
My wife is still the happiest, friendliest, nicest person I know (when I’m not pissing her off). I have tried many, many, many times to make her less friendly, happy, and nice through various mistakes and dumb stuff, but at the end of the day, she’s still happy, nice, and friendly.
In nineteen years, we’ve had many moments that are as vibrant and clear as that moment on the morning of our wedding – like holding our first-born together or having dinner at the breakfast nook in our first apartment. Or surprising her one time with a trip to Vegas to see her parents.
Vivid, unforgettable moments that all came from one, amazing unforgettable moment back in 1988 when I first met her, and then another unforgettable moment when I asked her on a date in the spring of 1992, and then when I sat on her parents couch in December of 1995 and gave her a rolling pin, cookbook, and apron and said, “these are all good things for you to have someday when I make you my wife,” . . . and then I said, “oh, and by the way, speaking of ‘being my wife'” and I got down on a knee and proposed.
Vivid, unforgettable moments.
Happy Anniversary and here’s to many more amazing moments.
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!
Don Kowalewski 