I didn’t lose a single pound while I was doing Jillian Michaels’ 30 Day Shred (but I did get toned and that is, in my opinion, just as important as a lower number) but, somehow, I’ve lost 2 pounds in the past 2 weeks! I’m down to 142 after hanging out at 145 for months and months. I’m getting closer to the 130s (my goal weight is 130).

Anyway, you might be wondering (as I was) how I managed to lose 2 pounds in 2 weeks after nary a loss for months. And it was sort of an accident, actually. I did absolutely no exercise and ate most of my regular meals in much the same fashion (and that included Dr. Pepper, Frappaccinos, iced coffee, Chick-fil-A, pizza, and chocolate-chip cookies—I’m not saying I eat like that for every meal, but I don’t totally abstain from junk food by any means).

While grocery-shopping two weeks ago, I bought Cheerios (actually, it was the generic kind, since we were at Aldi). I haven’t bought cold cereal since before Milo was born because it started to make me feel really sick while I was pregnant and I didn’t even want to look at it. So, anyway, I’ve been eating Cheerios for breakfast for the past two weeks (and not even the serving size—I’ve been eating a full bowl, and sometimes two bowls if I’m really hungry!). With 2% milk. That’s literally the only difference I’ve made to my diet.

So, thank you, Cheerios. You’re not the tastiest breakfast in the world, but you cost very little and your results are very welcome.

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Since I was six, I’ve wanted to be a writer. I spent most of my growing-up years in our family office, typing away on our Packard Bell computer. Mainly, I wrote stories. I wanted to be a novelist. When I was twelve, I sent five- and six-page stories off to publishers like Simon & Schuster with cover letters of the “Hi, my name is Heather and I am twelve years old…” variety.

When I started thinking about college, I didn’t hesitate. I knew I wanted to be a journalism major—the practical major for writers. After a semester in the journalism program, I quickly realized that I hated writing news and that journalism classes were boring. I switched to English where I thrived, taking literature classes and writing workshops. For the first time in my life, I met people like me—people who wanted to be writers, too. There was magic in those first couple of semesters. I didn’t hide my love of writing anymore; I talked about it constantly with my classmates. I’d go back to my dorm room after a day of science classes and math classes—all of the classes I hated—and write poems and stories.

Toward the end of my junior year, my affections changed. I wasn’t driven by the act of writing anymore. I no longer wanted to write for writing’s sake. I wanted to write things that would bring glory to God. I hadn’t the faintest idea how to do that, though. Our workshops celebrated a certain type of writing that, at the time, felt truer and more original than commercial fiction or Christian fiction. Simple stories about family or God were critiqued ruthlessly and mocked after class. The edgiest pieces survived. I didn’t realize it at the time, but pieces written for shock value aren’t exactly real, either.

Sadly, the person I was in college would probably feel sorry for the person I am now. I keep a blog and have little interest in traditional publishing. I take pictures of my baby and write about my family life. I’m sure there are a lot of people who think I’ve “given up.” That I’m not serious about writing anymore. The thing is, I still love writing. But I’m tired of writing what I think I should write. I want to write about things that interest me. I want to write poems about God and blog entries about trips to the park. I want to journal. I want to study the Bible and write about my findings. I don’t want to waste my time—these fleeting, fleeting days I’ve been given—trying to write impressively. I only want to write honestly.

And it might be messy, and it might not win any awards. But I’m being true to myself, and that is a happy, freeing thing.

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