I rediscovered a note that I had written to myself at the end of 2015. I had divided the page into four parts and in each respectively I had written ‘Add’, ‘Remove’, ‘More’ and ‘Less’. Under each of the headings I had added a number of entries of things I wanted to try and change in the upcoming year. One such entry pertained to the incessant impulse purchasing of fast food and a disgraceful incapability to go grocery shopping or do home cooking.
“Go fucking grocery shopping at least once a fucking week for god’s sake. It’s not that difficult.”
Next to the entry, I had to draw a sad face. Many entries were doomed to the same fate. But where had I gone wrong? If I had to live by the most excellent aphorisms listed on that page I would be streaking ahead in life, feeling fit and healthy, and enjoying a burgeoning bank balance.
It is not that I don’t know what is right; I know unequivocally what is right but I just don’t do it. Why? It’s simple, really. I “rack a disciprine”.
I am ungovernable in my day-to-day decisions. My superego in this case is the too-lenient parent that gives the child enough rope to hang itself with. Given the timeframe over which all the sad-face behaviours have been prevailing, it is clear that these things are not mere isolated instances of the exceptions to what is right. They are just plain bad habits.
I clearly do not have the answers yet, but maybe I’ll try a mixture of NLP, cognitive behavioural therapy and meditation on the possibility of encroaching poverty, obesity, unhappiness, and everlasting shame.
From the 16 Meditations for Deranged Workaholics series.