There’re too many good habits I’d like to have, like running, like getting up before dawn, like intense writing for three hours daily on average. And yet, other things get in the way. The things that feel so important at the time. The loud, the cute, the shiny…
Here’s my pattern: when I don’t get up at the hour I’ve promised myself, I start cutting myself short for the rest of the day. When I was in LA, I didn’t pay for training once a week, I might not even go to the gym that much even when I lived in Southern California for three years… I throw in the towel way too early before I hear the whistle blows.
I’d admit that what feels good at the time never really feels right later, or even right in the moment… Life gets in the way as it always manages to. For the past two years, I would use my pending visa status as my perfect excuse. “I can’t sit still for meditation today. I ain’t gonna write because I just don’t feel right.”
My other voice goes: When will you grow the fuck up? When will you evolve to be that person that you set out to be? And its answer is more urgent than I wanted (“Thanks, but no thanks. Not now.”).
If we have to feel right to do anything, the human race would have gotten zero stuff done. It takes a committed leader to claim independence against Great Britain; a single mom of three kids to rise early even when she’s just had three hours of sleep; a tennis champion to start practising her strokes again after she just won the Wimbledon Grand Slam the day before…
To me, the ‘ruthless’ professionals are like an entirely different species, whom I’ve admired all my life. It probably explained why I bawled my eyes out watching Jiro: Dreams of Sushi some five years ago at a time when I grilled myself every night about the meaning of my own existence.
CUT TO: Five years later. Now. I’m living the dream as a working writer. And yet, the residue of my old self lingers in my veins like that of a recovering addict. I can’t seem to drain it out of my system just yet without serious upshots.
I want to be a world-class pro to earn that R.E.S.P.E.C.T. It’s how Rocky became the Rocky we cheer for. And it’s why people eulogize Lagerfeld when he passed away at the age of 85 yesterday.
Maybe secretly I still fear of missing out on my wannabe-queen-bee social life. Maybe I still want to be loud now just because it feels good to hear people notice that you exist… I know those cravings are fading, but they’re still lurking in the darkness of my subconsciousness.
To quote that line which is on the brink of becoming a cliche: If not now, when?
So yeah, what the fuck am I waiting for? My own death?
I’ve got the bullet.
Time to pull the trigger.