Twenty-five years ago I was 50 pounds heavier than I am now. I discovered that fact quite by accident when — the night before I was supposed to start a new job — the suit I wanted to wear didn’t… close….
And I don’t mean “was uncomfortably tight.” I mean “button and buttonhole were far enough apart to send letters to each other.” What followed was a hilarious-now-but-horrifying-
It was, shall we say, a rather inauspicious start, both to my new job and to my weight loss journey. I tried everything to lose weight. The Cabbage Soup Diet. Jazzercise. (And take it from me: don’t try to do both at the same time.)
Things worked for a bit, but not for long. So, rather than think that *I* could possibly have anything to do with my inability to shed extra pounds, I decided to go see my doctor. She, after all, had prescribed a medication that had “weight gain” listed as side effect #287.
“So we should change the prescription, right?,” I asked her.
“No,” she said.
“No? Then what should I do?”
“Don’t eat so much.”
As it turns out, that was the answer. Or would be… two years later. But at the time I was in no way ready to hear it — and certainly wasn’t ready to hear it that way. In fact, given the way she said it (one lip shy of a sneer), I pretty much did the exact opposite of what she told me to and drowned my sorrows in the healing power of Ben & Jerry’s.
You can argue, of course, that my doctor lacked empathy (true) and other critical elements of a good bedside manner (yep). But down deep, I already knew the answer lay with me.
I mean, the formula for weight loss is not a mystery — eat less, move more.
But here’s the thing: you can’t make someone want something they don’t want. I wanted to lose weight, sure, but I didn’t want to BE different.
You can’t also make someone un-want something they do want (at least in the short term). It’s been 19 years since I hit my weight loss goal, and while I’ve moved on from my formerly beloved Big Bacon Classics, large fries, and large Frosties, I STILL can’t be left alone with a pint of ice cream, a fact that tickles my sons to no end.
And here’s something else I’ve discovered over the years: just as it’s highly unlikely to get someone to un-want something they want, it’s equally unlikely to get someone to un-believe something they believe.
Go ahead. Think about something you deeply believe. Golden Rule. Sanctity of marriage. The existence (or not) of some higher power.
Now, stop believing it.
I’m guessing that didn’t work.
As it turns out, that un-believing phenomenon ended up working in my favor when it came to getting serious about losing weight. Needless to say, it was not my doctor’s advice that got me there.
But what did was an interesting truth: at that weight and height, I was the Average American Woman — who is, by the way, overweight. I remember reading that fact and thinking, “But *I’m* not average.” Sure, my height and weight were, but *I* wasn’t.
And with that idea in mind, all of a sudden I could connect my goal of losing weight to being less “average” and more ME.
I didn’t have to un-believe I wasn’t average.
I didn’t have to un-want to lose weight — because I couldn’t as long as I believed I wasn’t average. “Overweight” and “not average” couldn’t exist simultaneously in my mind.
I didn’t have to see ME differently.
So what was left? How I was seeing the world. And all of a sudden it made sense why the Cabbage Soup Diet and Jazzercise didn’t work for me: they were about eating things I didn’t already eat (and never willingly would) and doing things I didn’t already do (and never willingly would). They were about what I didn’t have rather than what I did.
Which brings me to January 15, 1999, when the Duchess of York and Oprah attempted to make chocolate chip scones on television… when clearly neither of them had baked anything close to that EVER. (You should watch it. It’s hilarious.) But the impact on me of the segment, as misguided as it was, was not just to promote Weight Watchers, though I joined that weekend and credit the approach with my success.
It showed that me I could lose weight WITH the things I loved rather than struggle without.
I didn’t have to BE different. I only had to SEE different… options, perspectives, outcomes.
This is why the Red Thread works as a way of changing minds — yours or anyone else’s. It works with what does and doesn’t change in those minds.
What people want (the GOAL) and what they believe (the IDEA) is part of who they are. It’s not that goals and ideas can’t change over time. They can and do.
But usually, we don’t have time as a luxury when we’re pitching an idea, or giving a talk, or having a conversation in the moment. The only thing we can hope to change in the moment is the mental approach we’re taking — the PROBLEM where perspective is incomplete. We get there by setting BOTH the Goal and the Idea at odds with it.
When something we want (“lose weight”) and something we believe (“I’m not average”) are put in jeopardy by how we see the world (“be different” vs “see different”)… we’ll change how we see.
And when we change how we see, we change what we do.
So here’s my question for you this week: think about the hardest lasting change you’ve ever made. Now think of the moment when not making that change became harder than making it. What shifted?
Was it your goal?
Or your belief in yourself or the world
Or how you saw those two interact?
I’d love to know.
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