My cell phone rang and I answered it. In the midst of my conversation, I hear my home telephone line ringing. I ignore it. I have caller ID; I will call them back. As soon as the telephone stops ringing, a call waiting beep comes through on my cell. I ignore it. I hear the home phone ring again. Although distracted, again, I ignore it. My cell call waiting alerts me again. As I say goodbye to the person I was attempting to have a phone conversation with, the home phone rings for the third time in three minutes. This time I answer, “Good Lord, what?”

Well, I am a mere 15 pounds away from reaching a goal that seemed impossible 18-months ago. What was the goal then? It was to get my act together, with the hopes that weight loss would pursue. I know that’s not a great goal, especially since it is so vague. The upside, though, the plan didn’t demand unrealistic expectations. For the first time, I didn’t begin by claiming something like: “I’m going to lose 42 pounds by next Friday. It simply started with going to bed earlier and getting mindful about what and how much I was eating.

Last year, poignant words about passion came flowing out of me as I wrote the Publisher’s note for February 2013. I had just come off of a weeklong trip of solitude and writing. In addition, I was enjoying newly found success in my weight-loss journey, as I fit into size-10 jeans, a huge improvement from the previous size-18s. Passion filled me. I was on-fire, and when I penned the words below, uncontainable passion oozed out with them.

I went to a birthday party last night and it was a lot of fun. I am also looking forward to the Pink Partini party on April 10 to celebrate Pink Magazine turning 10-years-old—very exciting. However, there is one party I never want to go to and that’s a pity party. I was reminded of this recently when I texted a friend. My text went something like this: I don’t feel good. I’ve sucked with eating healthy the last four days. I hate myself for it. I feel like crying.

When I started Pink Magazine in a small 8’ x 12’ room in my Hilton Head Plantation home, I didn’t think ten years ahead. I never once thought it would fail, but all I could do is take one month at a time, just trying to keep my head above water. (What can I say? Deadlines are killer!) It was not more than six months before I needed to move out of the house into a larger space. Pink Magazine grew like wildfire, even when faced with unexpected competition.