I Don’t Want to Run! and other protests against discipline
My mom wants me to run a marathon with her. This isn’t the first time she’s asked, and it’s not the first marathon she’s run. Five? Six? I’m not sure which number this is for her . . . but so far it’s zero for me. I’ve thought about it – really seriously considered it. I listened to “Born to Run” by Christopher McDougal multiple times on audiobook, felt inspired, started a running program and even joined a running group on Meetup. But there’s a problem. I don’t like running.
I really wanted to like running. I wanted to go for miles and feel exuberant, and catch that elusive runner’s high and keep going further and further. But the only time I ever feel great running – is when I’m sprinting. I ran track and cross-country way back when in high school, but cross-country was only because I wanted to keep in shape for track where I could hit the 200 and 400m and go all out. THAT’s the kind of running I’ve always loved. The rest – the distance stuff – that was just practice. That was work.
I thought maybe I’d grow into it, that I’d grow up and become a mature responsible adult and all that, and develop a taste for long-distance the way you might develop a taste for broccoli as you mature. Instead, I find myself dashing around my house leaping over furniture, or going for long walks and in the middle somewhere – wherever the mood strikes me – I take off sprinting as fast as I can until I’m tired. The only thing enjoyable about long slow runs is finishing. It feels good to finish and say, “Yeah, I did that!” It’s nice to be ABLE to run for a long time – that’s good stuff, but the process isn’t.
I suspected that maybe I was just lazy. After all, my mom is turning 60 this year and is running on a improperly healed ankle (she broke it playing volleyball, and didn’t even stop playing to take care of it.) My mom is not . . . normal, but still, the nagging idea that I was just a slouch ate at me. . . . Until I started gathering evidence against running. 😀
At first, it was just a way to justify not having to run. “Oh look, fast-twitch vs. slow-twitch muscles – I must have more of the fast-twitch kind, that’s all” or reading about the heart condition dubbed “Athlete’s heart” that affects “primarily endurance athletes.” I even found articles suggesting that sprinting is as good an aerobic workout as endurance running, and that sprinters have better bone mass into old age. Then there’s the whole crossfit/caveman/primal eating and exercising trend that seems to be everywhere I look. They all suggest that hey, maybe our bodies need a little quick-work, some fun – but then they try to put in into a strict regimented program to follow, and it stops seeming like fun and more like work.
Then, it occurred to me – why shouldn’t I have fun? Why, if what I’m doing is fun, and is already beneficial, should I turn it into work? Some people love long-distance running. They love it. It’s a joy to them, and they get a lot out of it. Some love to ride their bike, or rollerskate, or play tennis, or run a business, write novels or build bridges – and every one of those things is beneficial. Every one of those things is fun for them, and makes their life better because they enjoy it, rather than just making it longer, or accomplishing something that doesn’t mean that much to them.
I can very happily go to my grave having never run a marathon. It’s not something I’ll regret not doing. That isn’t true for some people. It’s a bucket-list item for some, and it’s a pleasure for others, and a necessary challenge for others yet. When we hear ourselves saying, “I should . . .” maybe it’s time to rethink whatever it is that we “should” do, and ask is it necessary? good for my quality of life? bringing me closer to a goal or milestone I want to reach? And, is there something else that gives the same results (or better) that I actually want to do? It’s easy to forget, and not count as work the things that we love doing.
Maybe I’m still trying to justify not training for a marathon . . . but I think the more things we put in our life that make us happy, and less we force ourselves to do the unnecessary, the better off we’ll be, and the more energy we’ll have to do those unpleasant things that we actually have to do.
Image and Perfectionism
I haven’t been writing any blog posts in here. The idea behind this blog, of being able to embrace imperfection because each of us as humans are imperfect was dancing away from me in a number of excuses. The reason I didn’t write anything was because I wanted it to be GOOD. I had all these aspirations in mind that I would make pithy observations on interesting research and ideas, and present something of value. I wanted to create something meaningful that people would gain something from . . . but the standard of those ideals kept me from creating anything. Perfectionism – the very thing I’m trying to get away from – was stopping me.
I was afraid to write just my thoughts without a sound and fascinating topic to comment on because it felt self-indulgent, as though I was just propping up my own importance with the sound of my voice. I wanted to create something – to present something to the world, and what I could offer from me just didn’t seem good enough. But that’s the point of the blog – to realize that reaching perfection is impossible, that we ALL fail, and stumble around, and sometimes create stuff that’s utter crap, and it’s how we grow. It’s how we learn, and deceiving ourselves, and trying only to show our best face at all times hides something important, and imposes a standard that can become limiting, petrifying us and preventing us from expanding to a greater potential.
I think of the authors you hear about who had such great first novel success that they never wrote again – not because they had nothing more to say or felt their work was complete – but because they didn’t think they could meet or exceed that standard again. We can’t be afraid to make fools of ourselves, because that laced-up image of perfection/genius/great insight or whatever we think we are presenting or want to be presenting isn’t who we are, and keeps us from reaching any further.
Wherever we go, there’s a journey to get there. We don’t skip steps, and it can be a struggle that sometimes gets the best of us. But the struggle is where we reach each other. The most inspirational stories that touch us and our lives are about that effort, the struggle itself because that’s where we’re all at most of the time. Most of the time we’re in the struggle, fighting our way to brief moments of glory and achievement. If all that we show are the highlights – the wins, we can’t connect with anyone, and miss out on the learning we can gain by reflecting on the path itself.
Some of these thoughts were prompted by an interesting blog called The Beheld that I read tonight. The author writes about spending a month without looking in the mirror, and explores the impact of image, presentation, and the feedback and grounding we receive from other people as well as what we present to ourselves. A reader of her blog, aliceunderground made an interesting comment that got me thinking. She wrote, “I suppose this blog, to an extent, must also function as a kind of mirror. Do you ever find that disconcerting?”
Autumn’s response to her reader was:
That’s an astute point about the blog functioning as mirror. Yes, it can be disconcerting; in fact, this entire experiment, to some degree, was different than it would have been were I only doing it for personal enrichment, because I still had to sort of monitor my thoughts and feelings if I was going to have anything to report. But the larger question is the idea of social media as a place for recognition–and, indeed, the fragmented self. Rob Horning at Marginal Utility wrote this re: this project–“Social-media sites seem to me to be self-consciousness machines, encouraging that one maintain a directorial distance from one’s own life experience in order to strategize how to present it in update broadcasts.”
When we write something we expect others to read, we’re creating a kind of presentation. We’re crafting something in such a way so it can be received and perhaps reflect back to us what we want to see. My fear, my reluctance to write anything unless it was something really thought-provoking, interesting and could be seen as worthwhile came from a particular image I hoped to create. I didn’t want to create content that was less than that ideal. I didn’t want to see anything but that ideal reflection, so I wrote nothing.
But the point of writing this blog for me is to explore all different aspects of myself and humanity in general, to see clearly, to remove the blinders of perfectionism and image-framing as much as possible and see the real. To see what’s really there so I can understand it. But presenting what I learned became more important to me than the learning, and presenting in an ideal way kept me from putting anything out there at all. Nothing (in my mind) that I wrote would be quite right. But nothing ever is. There’s always room for improvement somewhere, and focusing on that image of perfection that doesn’t and can’t ever exist, or to imagine that I must present something flawless or amazing kept me from seeing what is real, seeing what I could give, and giving from myself -however it turned out.
Guilt Vs. Remorse
This morning I woke up thinking about guilt and remorse and how the former is destructive, but the latter is productive. The emotions, and their effects are entirely different. I thought about it because I screwed up — badly, and in something that I’ve had problems with many times in the past. I lost control of my temper and my emotions and in the process caused stress and pain for someone close to me, and damaged our relationship to the point where he was ready to give up on me. He didn’t give up. But, I have to change. I have to learn emotional control to have the kind of relationship I want to have with him. I have to learn it if I want to be able to keep and develop any kind of close relationships at all. I feel remorse for my behavior, and I’m looking for ways to change it. There is a clear difference in what I feel and my attitude towards it though than the guilt I’ve tended to feel in the past.
Guilt
Guilt points the finger at someone. It says, “You are wrong. You are bad.” With guilt you self-flagellate, you accuse, but you keep yourself in the past. Every time you review your behavior, whatever it was that made you feel guilty you replay those messages in your mind. You hear, “You are bad. Look at what you did.” This doesn’t give any impetus for change. Instead it locks you in, telling you this is the kind of person you are.
Being accused hurts. It’s uncomfortable and not a feeling most want to hold on to. Whether it’s someone else or yourself accusing you, the first tendency for a lot of people (me included) is to try to explain the behavior, try to justify why we did what we did to remove some of the guilt we feel. If there’s a reason for it, then maybe it’s not so much our fault, maybe we’re not to blame. Maybe it’s just who we are, and we can’t change.
We can feel guilty for doing something, and then continue to do it time and time again. The guilt doesn’t stop anyone, and may even give us an excuse to continue in the behavior: this is who I am, and I can’t help it. I do this because I’m bad (or whatever negative label you’ve chosen: impulsive, impatient, selfish, greedy,etc.)
Remorse
Remorse on the other hand says, “I’m sorry for what I did and I want to change. How can I do things differently?” When we’re remorseful, we’re looking for a solution, and not just a quick-fix to explain our way out of something. We are not dwelling in the past and reliving the mistake, but looking for a real way to change it. We recognize our mistake but we’re not stuck in it. The message playing is not, “You are bad, you are bad, you are bad.” Instead the message is, “I can do better.”
In my case, I have to do better. Not just because I made a promise that I would, but because it’s the only way I’ll be happy. I have this vision in my head of me alone – this sad, solitary figure who can’t connect with anyone, and when I try to see myself getting close to anyone – I see drama, and conflict, and still an inability to connect. I see myself as separate, as defensive, as protecting a shell around me and keeping distance, and refusing to understand or be understood, like a drop of water sinking through a decanter of oil – drawing in on myself and keeping everyone else out. I don’t touch anyone.
I’ve had this image for as long as I can remember. I don’t know where it started, but in a way it’s romantic – fit for a tortured artist or poet perhaps, and maybe the dark idealism of it is why I’ve held onto it so long. A dark and tortured story can be rather interesting after all. The day-to-day living of it though is a different matter. The image is pervasive and attractive in a way I can’t explain – but it’s not what I want. I have to remove that image and change my behavior and interactions if I want to be happy.
If I want to be able to connect with anyone, and I do, I have to change. And I have to take clear, concrete steps towards change. Living in guilt and beating myself up, retelling the same old messages doesn’t bring that change. Instead, I can, and will do better. I don’t have to continue that same old behavior, no matter how long I’ve been repeating it. It’s not who I am. I can create a different outcome. I can change. And I’m looking for specific ways to do so.
Seven Billion 