Helen on habits

I resent routines, I resent these so called habits.

I resent my bad habits, so much that I'm in denial about them and try to justify them. Bad habits like procrastination: I justify to myself that what I gotta do has too many unknown factors, that I've got too many things on my plate now, that I'll do it when it's the right time or that I still have plenty of time to do it... etc. Is it still procrastinating when I'm trying to talk myself out of procrastinating? I guess the answer is the same as is it still quitting if you're still smoking? hmm...

I also resent having to develop good habits. Everyone's got a few they tell you is good for you. Making your bed. Taking your vitamins. Read the bible. Exercise 3 times a week. Dentist twice a year. But I'm already spending all my time trying to rid myself of bad habits, where am I gonna find time to develop good habits? There's only 24 hours in a day, 365 days in a year, and I'll probably only have 90 years if I'm lucky.

My brother chatted with me in the car one day, and from our talk I figured out why I have these resentments. It's a childhood thing. Being told what to do, how to use my time, what to aspire to, all in all how to live my life but not really having a say in it. That's all natural, everyone's been through that. But here is why children need good role models: because if you're not a good role model then saying these things make you a hypocrite. What I mean is that to suggest a good habit but not taking the same medicine, makes one a hypocrite and the suggestion loses its weight. It actually may do harm.

So I guess I want control over my life. I guess I want life to be fair. Even if all logic points to it being good for me, I still want to make the call. And for something to become a habit, it means everyday I have to decide to do it. If it hasn't become a habit, then that means some days I said no. And I relish my right to say no, even if it bites me in the butt later.

But I also find that I have so much I want to share with people that I care for. My words won't carry weight unless I'm a good role model. How do I take care of them if I can't take care of myself? How will I care for them when it takes me 2 hours to cook dinner, a week to complete an errand, or a month just to write a blog post? Am I still in control? Am I still a good role model if I have good intent but lack in execution? And wasn't that what I resented in others in the first place?

Doh!

“Why do we fall?”

I am in a fight, a big fight. Now this isn’t like any other fight that I’ve been in before. The fight has been going on for a while and I’ve taken some really good shots. My face is numb, my body sore, my knuckles bloody. It seems that my opponent has an endless arsenal of weapons to attack me with. They attack flurries and they come out from nowhere. I catch a straight shot in the gut. Normally, my washboard abs can absorb it, but my knees buckle and I go down. This is different. I normally bounce right back up, but somehow this time is different.

I kneeled there, grasping my gut, as if that would make the pain go away quicker. In that moment, I wondered. I wondered when someone gets knocked down, why they get back up? Do they really think they stand a chance? Do they think they can win the fight? Do they just want to go the distance? Or are they so use to getting up after being knocked down, that it is just a reflex for them? My mind wanders. I get back up.

I look around and I’m on a dark street. All I see is the streetlight above me that keeps a small portion of the street lit. It’s just enough to see a few yards in front of me. The ground is damp and the air is cool. I hear in the distance people on the street and cars going by. It’s very faint; it’s very dark.

My assailants continue their onslaught. They come swinging with their fists and legs. They are trying to knock me out. I do my best to block the flurry of punches and kicks at me, but my face wants to say hello and my head hits the pavement.

Ah… it feels so good, the cold pavement against my bloody face. This should keep the swelling down. Yes, it feels that good. I could stay here a while. It hurts, but the cold damp pavement just feels that good. If I get up, who knows what else these unknown assailants will throw at me? At least down here they leave you alone, right? I contemplate that for what feels like an eternity.

Yes, this was indeed very different; I use to bounce right up! What’s going on here? How long am I down for? Do I get back up? But it feels good just being here. Don’t I usually just get up? Why must I get up? Heart. I repeat to myself, Heart. People get up because they have something to fight for, someone to fight for. Something they believe in. Do I have heart? Do I believe? I muster just enough strength to get up. This time was more difficult than the last. I don’t think I can get up again. I have to find a way to end this.

I started to focus my energy and look for someway to fight back. There must be something to give me the edge; I just need to find it and find it quick! The streetlight started to glow brighter. I saw more of my surroundings. Just a couple of street thugs I thought. I will endure; I must go on.

My sweat drips down my forehead and down my face. I try to wipe it away but it’s no use. The sweat gets into my eyes and it starts to stings. I start to doubt myself. I feel slow, my fists are like lead weights and my legs are like jello. This fight has gone on for a long time and I’m tired. The fists keep coming and I’m blocking and parrying their attacks. It seems to get repetitive. They throw a punch, I block. They throw a kick, I move out of the way. Occasionally, they land a punch or more. This last time, I catch a body combo that ends with an upper cut to the face. I go down like a sack of potatoes.

I’d like to say that I put up a good fight, but my face says otherwise. Battered, bruised and bloodied. Heart, I repeat to myself, Heart. I gathered my strength and start to get myself up. I plant my palms firmly on the ground and push my self up. As I get to my knees, I hear this sound; it’s an unmistakable sound, the sound of a lead pipe being scraped across the ground. I look to my side and sure enough there it was. Before I was able to get on my feet again, they take a swing and hit me on my side. I go down again. I think I hear a crack. I probably should say, I think I hear a few cracks. Pretty low blow I thought. At least they could’ve waited till I got up and was ready to fight. I guess they weren’t kidding when they said, “When it rains, it pours.”

Heart. I say to myself again, Heart. However, I’m not moving. What is so different this time? My arms are covering my side. I felt my ribs. It definitely feels like a few are broken. I don’t think I can go on. I lay there in agony. I really don’t think I can go on and I contemplate just laying there. Heart I say again, Heart. But like before, nothing is happening. I lay there still; tears start streaming down my face. Is this it? Is this all I have? Is this what I’ve amounted to? They say a true test of someone’s character is when they are down. Is this what will be said about me? Is this my character?

I move my arms and plant my palms firmly on the ground and push myself up. Do you really want to get up? Who said that? Was that them or was that me? It’s significantly louder now too. Is that a crowd? I ponder that for a moment.

Heart, I say, Heart. How badly do I want it? How much is it worth to me? I think back to just before the fight. It was all right there. It was all right in front of us. Us? That’s right! It’s what we’ve been fighting for, striving for all this time! This fight was just another obstacle. One of many that we will face on our journey. When people fall, I don’t know why they get up. I can’t speak for them. I can only speak for myself.

I get to my knees and I start getting kicked in the gut. However, it does not hurt. I look to my left and then to my right. I can see all around me, the streetlight is bright enough for me to see the entire block. I look around and see my assailants. I look beyond them and see a crowd; it’s blurry so I look more closely. I see my family. I see my friends.

I push myself up. The kicks are coming quicker and faster. A hand is extended to me. This really is no different than before. It just took me longer to find my way. I reach out to grab the hand; it has a familiar touch. My eyes follow the hand up the arm to their face. I see Helen, my wife and my best friend. I have a surge of energy, I feel refreshed and I know.

I get up.

2008 was a challenging year for me, both personally and professionally. I went through a lot of physical and mental anguish that I thought I would break. The path in front of me is more demanding, more challenging and, more difficult. But I know.

I get up. We get up. We move forward.

“Why do we fall?”

“So we can learn to pick ourselves up.”