Once upon a time, for me, the acronym BLT stood for a bacon, lettuce and tomato sandwich—lightly toasted Wonder Bread with a leaf of iceberg lettuce, four pieces of bacon, a freshly sliced tomato from the garden and an extra smear of Hellman’s Mayonnaise. My mouth waters as I write.
In my early 30s, post-childbirth, Weight Watchers meetings taught me to beware of BLTs. They weren’t referring to the wonderful sandwiches of my youth, rather the Bites, Licks and Tastes one consumes throughout the day without even thinking. The bites off your kid’s leftovers, licks off the spoon while baking banana bread, or the simple tastes from the meal being prepared. BLT calories can really add up and thwart the hard work of weight loss. All great information, but definitely put a damper on my once beloved BLT.
“I was instructed to not Bend, Lift or Twist for the next three months.”
I recently underwent fairly extensive spinal surgery. It was long overdue and, while a nerve-wracking experience, I am on the other side and healing like spring after a long winter: slow and steady. Ironically, the most critical piece to my healing hinges on a BLT. No, not the classic sandwich, or the mindless bites, licks and tastes… I was instructed to not Bend, Lift or Twist for the next three months.
Reader, I challenge you to NOT bend, lift or twist for a day! My Frankenstein-esque movements have been quite the contrast to my normal fluid yoga induced ways. It’s as if I’m a human sized domino. I had no option but to ask for help. For an independent woman like myself, this is difficult to do. My healthy self had been seen maneuvering enormous generators, creating fist-sized holes in walls while hanging a mirror, or dangling precariously from a ladder while fixing a fire extinguisher. I always try first, then ask for help.
So, here I am, four weeks out from surgery, wishing for a Wonder Bread BLT, but I cannot bend, lift or twist my way to create one. My house is empty of children and partners, causing me to rely on friends who stop by to visit and help out. I am sincerely grateful, but dare I ask someone to come make me a BLT? I’m just happy to have anyone help with my dishes and laundry. Do you know how many BLTs are involved in simple, everyday chores?
In the wake of surgery and all the healing involved, I’ve decided to give BLT a new meaning: Best, Life, Today. Everything I am doing contributes to my Best Life Today. Initially, I renamed the surgeon-instructed BLT as Best Life Tomorrow, allowing me to slip under the blanket of opioids and binge-watch Netflix. Tomorrow felt safer. Tomorrow didn’t require effort or discomfort or the humbling act of asking someone else to feed the dogs or carry a laundry basket. Tomorrow let me rest in the illusion that healing would simply arrive, fully formed, without my participation.
But healing, as it turns out, is not a spectator sport. It is in the smallest, most unremarkable choices where my Best Life Today quietly takes shape. It’s in standing at the sink, carefully, awkwardly washing a single plate instead of letting them pile into a leaning tower of avoidance. It’s in the slow, deliberate walk around the block, where each step feels both foreign and miraculous. It’s in accepting help—not as a failure of independence, but as an expansion of it. A softening.
I am learning that my body, much like my life, does not respond well to force. It responds to patience. To attention. To kindness. Three things I have so freely given to others, and am only now learning to offer myself and accept from others.
And wouldn’t you know, it’s the tiniest “bites, licks and tastes” of this new perspective that are adding up. A moment of gratitude. A pause instead of a push. A laugh at my own stiff, domino-like actions. These BLTs don’t sabotage me. They sustain me.
As for the sandwich? I’m still thinking about it. One day soon, I’ll make it—or maybe I’ll ask someone to make it for me. And I’ll sit down, carefully, without bending, lifting or twisting, and take a proper bite. Not rushed. Not distracted. Not standing over the sink. Just me, my sandwich, and my Best Life Today.
