I don’t want to write about fucking avocado toast.
I’ve been a storyteller as long as I can remember. First, I found myself in journalism only to switch my major to communication. It was after I started blogging that I discovered my passion for fitness and nutrition.
When I was younger I didn’t care if there was an audience or not. If I had a story, I would share it with someone or something. Growing up, my pets were my audience. I held workshop seminars about biology to geography to human behaviour to romance. Oh, the stories I came up with! Maybe that’s why today I’m such a hopeless romantic. I believe in love, and I wear my heart on my sleeve. A friend described me as genuine. I’d like to believe it’s an accurate word. I am who I say I am. I remove myself from situations that don’t align with my character or values. Be it jobs, relationships, or social outings; I’m real, to a fault sometimes. I didn’t always know how to say no and mean it. But today, my no means no, and my yes means yes. I’ve grown into myself. I’ve learned how to be assertive, and I’ve understood what it means to be confident. Is this what it means to adult?
In my mind, I’m always writing or choreographing. Sometimes I pretend I’m the subject of my own version of the Truman Show. I have songs selected, movements planned, and scenes coordinated. Sometimes I can’t differentiate between a dream, a daydream, or an actual event in real life. If you’re ever in a conversation with me in person, look into my eyes. I might get shifty and look confused out of nowhere. It’s not you. It’s me, trying to sort through the rows of file folders in the cabinets I have lined up in my brain. Much like my desk, they’re not that organized, so it takes me a little bit of searching to pinpoint a thought.
My memories are vivid. When I remember them, it’s often in picture snapshots. Sometimes I won’t remember the whole story, but that one exact moment in time. Sometimes I smile hearing a laugh, sometimes I shudder as I recall an embarrassing moment I want to shake out of my head. But that’s not how it works.
My mind is always creating, seeing, and dreaming. Boredom doesn’t exist in my world. Quite fitting, my first blog was called P2sWorld. I’m content in silence and stillness, which is an oxymoron to my loud and hyperactive nature. I love the window seat, so I can watch the trees and skylines shrink into the clouds or the mountain tops appear.
I love emotions. I love adventures.
I love that an eyebrow twitch or wiggle of a nose can express things words may not.
I love a tight hug and a forehead kiss; you know you’re safe.
I love the feeling of doing something that I thought I couldn’t.
I love the scent of outdoors; it smells like possibilities.
I do love avocado toast, especially on fresh sprouted or sourdough bread with a dash of salt, lemon juice, and cayenne pepper for kicks. Put some sunflower or pumpkin seeds on it. Top off with sun-dried tomatoes or fresh herbs. There are hundreds of ways to dress up avocado toast and they are all delicious.
But I don’t want to write about them. I don’t want to write recipes. I don’t want to write about exercises to make that butt perky or steps to achieve that summer body. For years, I’ve been working with professionals, rebuilding my platforms, and throwing myself into uncomfortable situations.
How do I grow my business?
How do I fuel my adventures while doing what I am most passionate about?
How do I contribute to a vast and evolving industry?
How do I compete with the thousands of other trainers or nutritionists?
How do I help you build a good relationship with food and fitness while respecting my boundaries?
How do I communicate everything from a source of love, acceptance, and peace?
I haven’t blogged much. I’ve been staring at blank pages, social media accounts, and avocado toast. But I don’t want to write about fucking avocado toast.
Eat it, love it, and make me some and bring it for me to eat too. But I don’t want to write about it; it’s already been done.
So what can I offer?
I want you to know you’re not alone.
When you’re overwhelmed in a meeting or you want to cry in the middle of a family dinner, I’m there with you.
You just learned your partner cheated on you and the reasonable reaction is to eat a tub of ice cream? I’m right there with you.
You stare at your body in the mirror and start poking at your love handles, thinking less of yourself, I’m there with you. Maybe not in the actual change room because that’s borderline creepy, HA! but you know what I mean.
I won’t judge you or scold you. Shit happens. We’re human. We have emotions, we have dreams, we have experiences. We care about our loved ones, we care about our health.
I have no desire to put myself in a box or what I can offer in a neat little package so that you think I’m a wellness professional who has it all together.
Instead, I’ll laugh with you and I’ll cry with you. If your story isn’t what you want, I’ll be here to help you change the next few chapters as you embrace your power. I’ll offer my real, raw, truth. I will do my best to hold a space for you to do it too.
So tell me a story, I’m listening.