My boyfriend had a health scare: he'd been having pains in his chest and been feeling really bad. He was imagining everything from lung cancer (he smokes) to heart attack (he's got a beer belly). He finally did go to the doctor, and it turns out he has reflux disease. Now, don't scoff. Untreated reflux leads to esophageal erosion and even cancer, and it can be extremely painful.
The scare has shaken him out of some of his habits. He's been off the smokes now for half a month, he's cut down on his drinking, and he's utterly amazed me by doing the one thing he used to swear he would never do. He's running two miles every other day. He's told me before that he hates running because he feels awkward and uncoordinated when he does it. He feels as through none of his muscles want to work in concert and he should be wearing a helmet and one of those big retainers you can see on the outside of your face.
But he's doing it, because he wants to be alive.
So I am following suit. And it's wrong of me, because if I were left to my devices, I would not change. I'm changing to keep up with him, so that he doesn't leave me behind. I'm afraid he'll turn around and look at me and think, "Well, I've changed and she's still in the same rut. Maybe it's time for me to move on."
But if I change only on the outside, and resent it, it's not real change. If we grow apart, it's going to happen no matter what I do to try to stop it. People change on the inside. It's when the insides don't match, not the outsides, that people grow apart and separate. I'm the one now having the scare, but the only thing I can do is put my shoes on and get back to running, throw away the smokes and try to regain some discipline over my life.
I keep hoping that if I do, I'll want to keep doing it. I keep hoping that it will make me happy and I will feel better, more secure.
Something still tells me I'm fooling myself.
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