Corn

I keep cans of corn in my bathroom.

It’s not a weird design choice or a quirky attempt at farmhouse décor. They sit there, on the counter, looking entirely out of place, staring me in the face. They’re my weights, the tools I’ve adopted into my strength-training journey.

When I decided to incorporate some resistance training into my daily routine (because I fully intend to lift my coffee mug with ease when I’m 80), I turned to YouTube for guidance. A lovely Australian woman, about my age, with long blonde hair, a soft voice and sweet spirit, suggested using canned food as starter weights. The idea immediately appealed to me. Accessible? Check. Low-pressure? Check. Doable? Double-check. And so, my cans of corn were promoted from pantry staples to fitness equipment.

“Why Is There Corn in Our Bathroom?”

I knew my approach was unconventional, but it was confirmed when my husband walked into the bathroom. His eyes landed on the cans, and with a mix of confusion and amusement, he asked, “Why is there corn in our bathroom?”

Fair question. I explained how I’d repurposed them for my strength-training efforts. He nodded, still amused, and left me to it. And I laughed too, because, really, the whole scene was ridiculous: me standing in front of the mirror, curling cans of corn like I was training for a competitive pantry-stocking championship.

But here’s the thing—it worked. Those cans of corn represented a start. A small, imperfect, funny start.

Wrestling with “Enough”

As I stood there, curling my cans of corn in the mirror, that voice piped up almost immediately. “You should be using real weights. You should be doing more reps. This isn’t even enough to make a difference. Other people do a lot more.”

It’s the same voice that’s whispered in so many moments of my life, telling me I’m either falling short or not trying hard enough. That voice has driven me to extremes more times than I care to admit, convincing me that only big, dramatic efforts are worthy of celebration.

But I’m learning to push back. That voice doesn’t tell the truth. Starting small isn’t failing—it’s building. Those cans of corn? They’re more than I did yesterday. And that’s enough..

There is underrated beauty in starting small. Small steps don’t overwhelm you. They meet you where you are, encouraging you to keep going instead of giving up before you start. I’ve already added (a little) more resistance. So, I’m getting there at my own pace.

The humor of it doesn’t hurt, either. Every time I see those cans of corn sitting in the bathroom, I smile. They’re a reminder not to take life—or myself—too seriously. It lightens the process and makes it easier to stay focused on the long-term goal: build some strength to support my own longevity.

Learning to Live in the Middle

For much of my life, I’ve gravitated toward extremes. Someday we’ll have to talk about scrapbooking, fake eyelashes, and large quantities of clear organizational pantry products (still in the packaging). My tendency is to go all in - falsely thinking that anything less than perfect isn’t worth the effort. While that mindset has propelled me forward at times, it’s also led to burnout, disappointment, and missed opportunities. If you never try new things out of fear of failure, how will you ever know what you’re capable of?

This new approach—choosing the middle—isn’t easy for me. It’s uncomfortable to take small steps when I’m wired to think bigger is better. But this project is teaching me something important: Small steps lead to lasting change. Starting with cans of corn doesn’t make me weak or uncommitted. It makes me human.

The middle isn’t glamorous, but it’s where growth happens. It’s where I remind myself that my goal isn’t perfection or dramatic progress—it’s consistency, sustainability, and learning to trust the process.

Your Turn: What’s Your “Can of Corn” Moment?

So, here’s my question for you: What’s your version of lifting cans of corn? What small, seemingly insignificant step has moved you closer to your goals? 

I’d love to hear your stories. Have you found yourself in the middle of life? I want to laugh with you, celebrate your progress, and remind us all that the middle is a pretty great place to be.

For now, my cans of corn will stay in the bathroom, and I’ll keep lifting them with a smile, knowing that it’s enough.