By Jason Kirby, PN1-SSRS
Living Proof Deep Health: The Heaviest Weight Is Doubt

Sometimes there’s a strange kind of silence that happens when you finally reach a goal you once thought was impossible.

Not celebration.
Not fireworks.
Not even the loud, triumphant “I did it!” you always imagined.

Just… quiet.

On 12/15/2024, when I first wrote down the goal to lose 125 pounds in one year, I promised myself something big for when I finally got there — something symbolic. I said that when I hit that number, I’d celebrate by opening a bottle of Dom Pérignon I had been saving, and I’d buy myself a Rolex.

Something to mark the moment.
Something to say, “This is the new me. I made it.”

Fast-forward.

Goal hit.
Goal surpassed.

A version of myself I once couldn’t even picture is now the one I see in the mirror daily.

But here’s the twist no one warns you about:
I no longer drink. And the idea of dropping huge money on a watch feels… hollow. Misaligned. Not me.

It made me pause in a way I didn’t expect.

If I don’t want the reward I swore I’d give myself…
what does that mean?

It turns out:
it means everything.

The Reward Was Never the Reward

Back then, the Dom and the Rolex represented something deeper — a life I thought I needed to earn. A future version of myself who was confident, successful, disciplined, and finally living in his own skin. I imagined those “rewards” were the finish line.

But somewhere between Day One and today, the finish line moved.

Or maybe I did.

Maybe rewards change when you change.
Maybe the real reward wasn’t champagne or luxury at all — it was becoming someone who doesn’t need those things to feel whole.

Maybe the celebration isn’t something you buy.
Maybe it’s something you become.

And that realization led me into the second layer of this post — another perception shift I never saw coming.

The John Cena Lesson I Didn’t Expect to Learn

For 20 years, as a huge pro wrestling fan, I despised John Cena. The character, the promos, the superhero persona — I couldn’t stand any of it. And like a lot of fans do, I blurred the line between the on-screen character and the man behind it.

Somewhere along the way, my perception became my reality.

So I dismissed everything he did outside the ring.

Movies? Not interested.
TV appearances? Hard pass.
Charity work? Didn’t believe the sincerity.

Then came the reminder.

John Cena has granted more Make-A-Wish requests than anyone else in the history of the organization.

More than anyone else.
Ever.

And he does it quietly. Consistently. Without spectacle.

If I missed that, what else was I missing?

So I decided to look further.

That’s when I learned about the broken pocket watch he carries — the one engraved with two reminders:

“Comparison is the thief of joy.”
and
“Memento mori.”

One phrase keeps him grounded when he feels small.
The other keeps him humble when he feels big.

There was something about that — the duality, the honesty, the self-awareness — that hit me harder than I expected. It made me sit with a truth I had been avoiding:

Perception is powerful.
But perception is not always reality.
Not for others.
And not for ourselves.

The Right People at the Right Time

That realization didn’t happen in isolation.

It came through a conversation with my friend Danny — someone who entered my life during this chapter, not the earlier ones. A newer friendship, formed while I was already doing the work of changing, questioning, and rebuilding.

Danny isn’t a wrestling fan. He doesn’t carry decades of reactions or assumptions. He knows John Cena only through recent interviews, projects, and the person he appears to be today — not the character I had long ago decided he was.

That difference mattered.

But what mattered more was the timing.

Some people don’t arrive to fix you or save you. They arrive to walk beside you while you’re learning how to see differently. They bring steadiness. Perspective. A quiet honesty that doesn’t demand anything — it simply exists.

Danny’s role in this journey has been exactly that. A reminder that growth doesn’t always come from long history or shared passions, but sometimes from newer connections that show up when you’re finally ready to receive them.

I don’t take that lightly.
And I don’t take that friendship for granted.

The Stories We Outgrow

The truth is, I carried a lot of outdated stories about John Cena — the character, the person, and everything in between.

But those stories weren’t about him.

They were about me.

I carried outdated stories about myself too.

Stories about my worth, my body, my confidence, what I “deserved,” how people saw me, and who I was allowed to become.

Losing weight changed my body.

But rewriting those internal stories?
That’s what changed my life.

And maybe that’s why the Dom Pérignon feels pointless now.
Maybe that’s why the Rolex doesn’t call to me the way it once did.

The person who wanted those things isn’t the person standing here anymore.

What If the Real Reward Is Perspective?

For most of my life, I rewarded myself with comfort — food, distractions, things that numbed instead of healed. When I began this journey, I reached for rewards that looked like status, proof, symbols of success.

Now what I want…

is clarity.
Alignment.
Peace.
Truth.
Momentum.

Maybe my reward isn’t something I buy at all.
Maybe it’s something I choose.

Maybe it’s the ability to say:

“Comparison is the thief of joy.”
So I stop comparing myself to who I was, who I thought I’d be, or who anyone else is.

Memento mori.
So I remember that life is short, sacred, and meant to be lived with intention — not impulse.

Maybe the real reward is perspective.
Maybe the real reward is freedom.

Living Proof, Evolving Proof

Hitting my weight-loss goal didn’t give me the feeling I thought it would.

But it gave me something better:

A new lens.
A deeper understanding of myself.
A reminder that growth isn’t clean or obvious or linear.

And that the “finish line” is never really the finish line — it’s just the next beginning.

I don’t know yet what my new reward will be.

Maybe that’s the point.
Maybe the reward will reveal itself as I keep evolving.

But I do know this:

Every day I wake up healthier, clearer, stronger, and more present than the version of me who started this journey.

And that alone?

That’s a reward I never expected — and one no watch or champagne bottle could ever match.

Because now, I’m not just Living Proof that transformation is possible.

I’m also learning to become the proof that perspective is everything…

and that the heaviest weight we carry isn’t on our body —
it’s the doubt we carry in our mind.

— Living Proof: The Heaviest Weight Is Doubt

Jason Kirby, PN1-SSRS
After losing over 130 pounds and rebuilding his life physically, emotionally, and mentally, Jason created Living Proof Deep Health to help others do the same. His coaching focuses on deep health: nutrition, habits, mindset, stress, sleep, recovery, confidence, and the emotional layers most programs ignore.

Reflection Questions

1. How have my goals or desires changed as I’ve grown?

• What rewards once felt meaningful that no longer align with the person I’m becoming?

2. When I finally reach a milestone, what feelings actually show up—excitement, relief, confusion, or something else?

• What might those feelings be trying to tell me?

3. What versions of myself am I still judging or comparing myself against?

• Are those comparisons helping me or holding me back?

4. In what areas of my life am I still carrying outdated stories about who I am or what I deserve?

• What evidence do I have that those stories are no longer true?

5. Where have I misjudged others—or myself—based on limited perception?

• What changed when I learned more?

6. “Comparison is the thief of joy.”

• What comparisons am I willing to release today to create more joy in my life?

7. “Memento mori.”

• If I remembered my time here is finite, what would I prioritize more intentionally?
• What would I let go of?

8. What rewards feel aligned with the person I am now—not who I used to be?

• Do these new rewards support my physical, emotional, or mental health?

9. What internal finish line am I chasing that might need to be re-examined?

• Is it truly mine—or something I inherited from an old identity?

10. How can I honor this version of myself today—without needing something external to validate it?

11. What relationships, influences, public figures, or beliefs have shaped my worldview?

• Where might my perceptions deserve a second look?

12. What is one small, meaningful action I can take this week to reinforce the new identity I’m building?