My 100'th post, on habits

Do you think I've successfully made blogging a habit? I do believe so. There's a part of my nature that just quits..when something gets too boring, or the appreciation is just not there any more. I can tell myself to go on, but something inside my soul just digs in and refuses to budge. Perhaps it is my subconscious telling me to move on. On top of that I then get a little voice inside my head whispering, "quitter". The drive to avoid failure is so much less motivating than the drive to excellence. Think of the difference between a mule being driven by a stick and the same mule being tempted by a carrot.


I do hope I won't quit blogging. Writing is a drive deep in my soul. My instincts tell me to keep doing it, audience or not, as joyful work always pays off.

Anyways, my intent was to talk about habits today. I've thought long and hard about this; both good and bad habits. There's eating habits for instance; those that will help me be fitter and lose weight, and habits that will slowly kill. (I am diabetic). Why is it so hard to turn around old habits around food, and why do we turn it in to such a drama of abstension and a symbol of discipline (or lack thereof)?

I am reminded of a story dad told me of a surveyor was asking questions about nutrition and food habits. It became obvious that the author of the survey was seeking confirmation that improved education would improve society's food choices. Dad got mad, and asked to speak to the author. As he ranted to me afterwards, there is no lack of information in our society regarding nutrition. Food choices has to do with self-discipline.

Which led me to thinking (for years afterward), if self-discipline and choices is the problem, how do we teach self-discipline? Or, as I am pondering lately, maybe it is not a problem of self-discipine at all. Maybe we fight our basic nature when we turn around an old habit or start a new one.

What got me thinking along these lines is a proposed list of instincts in Stephen Pinker's book, "The Language Instinct", that may be hard wired in to every human being. The instincts of:

2. intuitive biology (understanding how plants and animals work)
4. Mental maps of large territories
7. Food: what is good to eat

These combined instincts gave me an image of prehistoric woman grazing along her habitual route, taking note of where food sources are, and checking them on a routine basis. As I've mentioned in the past few weeks, I've learned a bit about efficient grazing by watching the bee.

I note that if my body has become used to two pieces of toast for my breakfast, if I suddenly change that habit there is mild distress. Something is missing, and I become fiercly protective of my earned toast. Yet, if I am successful in transitioning to one piece of toast as the norm, I will feel overfull if I indulge in more.

The trick, it seems to me, is to avoid the whole abstention/indulgence cycle, which is too much like the ancient grazer's feast-and-famine, acknowledge our desire for routine, and slowly adjust our mind and body to new norms.

I am testing out another recommendation from a course instructor. He suggested a routine where days each week are dedicated to customer relationships, research, and so on. I was skeptical, as my week is a chaotic blend of meetings, working with employees, and pockets of sit-down time. Yet the new routine is working very well. My mind and body like routine. It is as if my body remembers that Thursday is sit-down day.

I discovered the same issues when I started working from home. My mind and body are geared to relax (thank God) the moment my toe hits the thresshold. How do I gear myself back in to work when I am sitting in my home office? I tricked myself back in to work by only taking materials home that I love to work on.

Now, of course, the problem is to switch myself "off" when I am at home.

I am using this same theory of routine to finish undone projects around home. I want to take up painting again. I want to blog. I want to remember my friends. Yet day after day goes by and these stated priorities remain undone. Blogging has been taken up again because I have successfully added "writing" to my lonely morning routine. Now I've designated days of the week to call friends and to paint. I've successfully called up two friends in the past month and reconnected, and it feels great.

As I've learned from Covey's book on the seven habits, how effective are we as human beings if we put off those activities that really matter? Adding these new routines is helping. Now, to add exercise to my daily routine.

Let's see how long this lasts

I'm going to re-start my blog. I fight a malady of my own making to do it. After taking on an exciting enterprise, I follow it zealously, completely, and determinedly until I stop. Why, oh why do I stop?

I stopped this blog on May 17, 2009.

Why do I stop so suddenly, so assuredly, and so completely? I am not sure, but I have some theories. Like so many other problems, my inclination is to study the problem in the finest detail. By knowing the problem, I find my resolution. Why does my motivation deflate like a punctured balloon? It might be a simple problem of boredom. Once I have mastered the media and I feel I have nothing to learn, I may not be able to maintain the momentum.

Or perhaps, recognition stops me cold.

I had just come to the point where I shared my blog with a person I admired deeply. I was exposing my work, my "self" to an external audience for the first time. I received some fine words of praise. I allowed myself the thought that I might have built something worthwhile, beyond the audience of one. Then I stopped.

I am reminded of one of Grimm's fairy tales, of a poor cobbler who had a sudden change of fortune. During the night all his work from the night before would be done. He prospered from this unexpected fortune, so decided to find out the why. Elves, barefoot, were laboring in his shop overnight. Grateful, he crafted small shoes for the industrious elves. That night, the elves celebrated their good fortune in song, then left, never to return. The now wealthy cobbler was happy to let them go. He had his good fortune and did a good deed as well.

I have always felt a deep connection to those elves, laboring through the night, unrecognized. I wondered why they could not bask in their good fortune, and remain? Perhaps that one ray of light was all they needed, and any more would be unbearable.

Anyways, I give myself lots to think on.

Let's see if I will be back tomorrow.

Gentle Change is not TV Friendly

This thought has been percolating for a while. Our television is flooded with "reality" shows where people are prodded, insulted, and put through incredible pressure in order to bring about dramatic change. http://www.realityshows.com/ Along the way there are many casualties. I fear with so many models put in front of us that people may come to believe that this sort of drama is normal or necessary to bring about change.

On the contrary, I suggest that gentle change is the norm and my gut tells me it is much more successful. I have my own life to show for it, too.

So why does television do it? Because dramatic television depends on confrontation, conflict, and high emotion to grab the viewer's interest. Gentle change is boring to watch. From my own example though, slow personal change does have high reward. The bootcamp mentality even, set me up for a succession of failures through the years. So here I am, forty-eight, and I am finally catching on to my own rythm and respecting it. I'll share what I've learned so maybe you can gain new confidence that personal change is not out of reach.

So how did I get bought in to the bootcamp mentality? Dad did it. A graduate from the Army reserves, he believed in pushing us harder, faster. His revelation, which he tried so hard to share, is that one reaches a moment when all reserves are exhausted and you go on anyways. Why do you do it? Because your sergeant told you to. How did you do it? You find out that you have greater reserves than you ever imagined. You dig deep in your gut and make it happen. Dad tried dearly to pass on that lesson, but it fell off me like water off a duck's back.

I have a vivid memory of "doing laps" in the pool, and reaching a personal best, "Look dad, what I did", he smiled indulgently and asked me to do ten more. I couldn't do it. I wilted, and I lost what I wanted most in the world, my dad's approval. I am sure he felt the failure, too. It wasn't like he wanted me to feel bad. He wanted me to have that same experience he did. But it was not to be. I thrive on play and frequent rewards. The more often you tell me I'm doing a great job, the more I will do.

So finally, at forty-eight, I am putting that voice in my head to rest, "Onward, higher, more, more." I'm exercising and dieting with greater success. I've got a great support team for me, all gentle cheerleaders, and I have a new voice in my head.

Some of my great support people this time around, are all gentle in their suggestions. There's my doctor, who shyly suggests that perhaps a reasonable goal is to shed ten percent of my current weight, not to achieve my "ideal" size. As I consider what she says over the following weeks, I start building myself a new picture of what success looks like. I'll still be rotund, but how much more a svelte rotund I will be. With greater energy and mobility, too.

My massage therapist, as well, as she prods my muscles to new shapes, is an oasis of calm and reason. Massage is new to me but I already love it. I get all tongue-tied when I talk of the experience, though. Her fingers drum a message that speaks to the inexpressible parts of my soul. So I'll leave it at that. If you want to know what massage can do for you, try it.

My hubby from the first, approaches me with new habits with a gentle persistence that is disarming. His tidiness gene is much more activated than mine. He lives for an empty sink and a clear counter every day. Every day for the past eight years, he gently suggests we get the dishes done together. Every night I consider, and most nights I concede. Without really noticing, my kitchen and my home has gained a sense of order and tidiness. I only notice when he's gone for a few days. For whatever reason, he never tires of asking, and he is never angry or impatient in his request. The ritual of asking is part of our routine and is strangely soothing.

He also is part of my support team, challenging me when I choose to break my fast. By now he knows the dietary rules I have made for myself, and challenges me when I choose to break them. I'd like to say I listen, but most of the time I don't. But perhaps I cut the binge to one piece of toast instead of a half-dozen. He's the added voice of reason when I choose to live in a haze of denial for a while.

Nowadays I forgive myself frequently. Every day is a new day. Slip-ups happen to normal people, and every good choice is a success. I am enjoying myself, I am having fun, and I bask in the praise of small successes. It works, so why fight it? I'm not a television show "reality" contestant. I won't be voted off, no-one revels in my drama, and my ultimate success, though painfully slow to watch, is great living.

Dramatic interventions I also suspect have only limited success, whether it be to help an addict face his demons, or a cultist the danger of his religious choice. I've only watched "Intervention" once, but the story was terrifying in it's reality. The addict did finally accept treatment, but only for a short while. He died within weeks of leaving the treatment facility. I suspect as dramatic as an intervention is (and maybe with these extreme cases is the only hope) that a gentle coaxing to new ways of thinking and doing has more success. It's only "gut" now, but I'd like to search out if my gut is true.