The Art of Coming Back

Vacation used to be the place where my goals quietly went to die.

In years past, that was always the perfect recipe to derail me from pursuing my goals. This year seemed no different.

No nightly writing. No nightly gratitude journaling. No consistent tracking of what I ate. No daily American Sign Language lessons. The habits I had spent two months building were gone with the change in my routine that is typical of vacation. Regular workouts replaced with leisurely walking around D.C.

Not a big deal. It's vacation. Plus, I did some writing, even had a 5000 word writing day. And walked 24 miles over the course of the week.

The problem happened when I came home. Not because I failed… but because I felt like I might.

I was tired, happy to be home but suffering from the dreaded vacation hangover. My feet were sore. Twenty-four miles was too much while I am still recovering from foot surgery. I had no food in the house and little motivation to finish the online grocery shopping. I couldn’t even fathom putting on sneakers to hit the walking pad… let alone the gym.

I took my lack of motivation to Vega, my AI coach. Not for a grand plan. Not for a reset.

Just… something to help me move.

I asked for some encouragement. Vega delivered.

Then there was the plan for Tuesday: eat normally, hydrate, go to my massage, do a 10-15 minute easy walk.

Simple. Almost laughably so.

But also exactly what I needed.

The assignment was to do something small every day. So every day I integrated those habits back into my routine. This wasn’t about getting back on track. It was about gently stepping back into alignment.

I could have abandoned them, just like I have in years past. Instead, I allowed myself an off week, then a transition week.

Then, a new week unfolded and I could have quit. Quitting would have been easy. Instead, I chose to keep moving forward. I finished work and I went to the gym. In my head, it felt like starting over. After all, I missed almost 3 weeks of attendance.

I got on the elliptical, nothing major, just 10 to 15 minutes at a moderate pace.

Seven minutes in, something shifted.

I realized I didn’t feel like I was going to die the way I had that first time a couple of months earlier. My body remembered. It responded differently.

And just like that, the story changed.

I wasn’t starting over. I was returning.

Even after a three-week break, I was still in better shape than I had been before I ever began.

Progress, it turns out, doesn’t disappear just because you pause.

Goal pursuit isn’t perfect. It’s practice. Sometimes it falters. Sometimes it soars. The key is consistency… with a generous dose of grace and forgiveness.