I couldn't help but leave Canyon Ranch a few months back without a fresh take on healthy living. I'd spent four days healing myself from the inside out. I'd eaten the freshest and most nutritious foods, energized my muscles with twice-daily exercise, and invited therapists to fine-tune my chakras and balance my out-of-whack cancer body. I had my hair cut, my make-up done, my mind cleansed. I was massaged, scrubbed, pedicured, and pampered. I'd become relaxed, refreshed, recharged, revitalized. There's no way I could throw all that away.

Now back in Florida, I'm trying to live like I'm at Canyon Ranch's Tucson oasis. I've changed my diet, committed to exercise, and perhaps most important in the whole scheme of lifestyle change, I'm letting go.

I've identified three priorities in my life -- my family, my health, and my sanity. Any extraneous stuff, I'm tossing it. Commitments that take me away from my kids: no. Jobs that cause me stress: gone. Responsibilities I don't wish to tackle: I won't. A jam-packed calendar: never again. I tend to go with my gut. If something comes up and I feel a sick little feeling inside, I pass that something right up. I simply let it go.

Letting go makes me feel happier, healthier, more in charge of the joy in my life. It's good for my health, good for my soul. It's just plain good. And there's just no way I'm letting go of that.

Thanks Canyon Ranch for the inspiration.

I like to exercise. I like the challenge, the sweat, the mental release, the physical results, the time to myself. I like everything about it -- practically.

What I don't like about exercise is the pressure to accomplish the feat over and over again for the rest of my life. For years, the pressure I put on myself was palpable. I thought about exercise all the time. I stressed about what to do and when to do it. I fought to convince my kids to climb into a double stroller long after they were too big to sit comfortably in the wobbly contraption and when I found time to exercise all by myself, I struggled with an overwhelming desire to spend quality time with my little boys. I felt rushed to complete my workouts -- because my kids were waiting, dinner was waiting, work was waiting.

I was faithful about exercising -- even through treatment for cancer -- because of my self-induced pressure and despite the stress and worry it caused me. And then something happened.

It was probably a combination of cancer and my relentless push for physical fitness that caused my body to crash. I became tired and exhausted and could barely lift my legs to walk up the neighborhood hills I typically conquered with ease. My oncologist told me to stop, to give my body a break, to let go of my high expectations. He advised me to exercise two to three times per week -- and that's it.

It took some time but I have finally embraced this approach. I have abandoned schedules and routines and plans and I now exercise when I can, when it fits into my day, when I really want to do it. My fitness trainer friend Fitz, a new blogger on That's Fit, wrote in one of her first posts that we should all stop trying to get fit -- and we should just do it. "Don't wake up tomorrow with the idea of trying to go for a jog," she says." "Get up and go for a jog! Put it in your planner and make it happen."

Fitz might not like my approach, but I have stopped putting exercise on my planner. For me, this works. It takes away the pressure, the stress, the worry. It gives me peace to confront each day free of exercise anxiety. It makes me happy to tackle exercise on my own terms, without some preconceived notion of what I should be doing.

I should share something else about myself. I am a perfectionist. I want everything to be just right. As child, I tore up drawings that may have had one stray mark. I wouldn't leave my house for school until my ponytails were flawless. My house is clean and neat, my toenails are pedicured and painted, my hair is styled just so. Perfectionism, sometimes just a step away from obsession, can be an unhealthy practice. And for me, exercise was becoming an emotionally unhealthy endeavor.

I am confident my perfectionist tendencies will keep me in the exercise loop for all of time. Just knowing I need exercise will propel me to conform. But I must say that I am so relieved to have let go of some of my exercise burden.

I like exercise. I really like it. And today, when I ran three miles -- because I had the time and felt up for the task -- it was refreshing, empowering, cleansing. I think it's the lack of pressure that allowed me to lose myself in the moment today. For me, letting go of exercise has lightened the load.

I was present for death only one time in my 36 years of life. I consider this both a bad and a good thing. It's bad because I did not want my grandmother to die -- and watching it happen made it so real, so vivid, so painful. I don't think I would have ever chosen to watch my grandma die -- to watch her slip from consciousness to coma, to observe her altered body once death arrived, to witness the movement of her body on a stretcher as it was wheeled out of the house from the bedroom I still see every time I visit my mom's house. But I think I am lucky really -- and this is the good part -- because I got to be with her during her final moments. I got to watch her body as it lay still, peaceful and calm and still breathing. I got to talk to her and although she could not respond, I believe she could hear my words. And it makes me happy to know my grandma may have known I was with just prior to her flight to heaven. And after her flight, I got to touch her cool hands. I got to feel the power of the passing of one life -- a long life -- and I got to feel the comfort of a death that was not ugly or painful or difficult. It was sad -- it's still sad -- that my grandma died three years ago. But what a privilege it was to be part of the day she left this world.

Susan DeWilde left this world in much the same way -- with loved ones by her side. She was a fighter and had conquered several rounds of breast cancer, a tumor in her spinal cord, uterine cancer, lymphatic cancer, and then leukemia, which took her life at the age of 53. I don't know this from Susan herself but from her friend, Christy Mack -- who helped her accept her death and guided her into her own final moments so that she could escape her pain and die peacefully. Christy writes about her beautiful friend and her empowering death in an article that appears in the August 2006 Oprah Magazine. Titled Friends to the End, Christy's story details how she soothed her friend, cradled her hand, and talked her through her last breaths. She helped her on her way during a time her friend feared most. Christy writes, "What she and I shared the night she died was a precious gift of friendship, emotionally profound and sacred in its perfection. It broke my heart. It strengthened my soul."

This I understand.