“A clean house is a sign of a wasted life.” (Anon.)
For some unknown reason the above quote came to mind when I began to gather my thoughts for this week’s blog. The original idea for the theme of “habits” (I’m hoping to come up with a catchier title than that) came from a conversation with friends who asserted that it only takes from twenty-one to twenty-eight days to create a new habit. Presto; change-o.
I take exception to that.
I have been blogging for eleven weeks (aka seventy-seven days) and it’s far from a habit. I’ve been composting for almost as long, and experience an equal degree of self-sabotage as in my resistance to blogging. Bearing in mind that both of these projects are entirely optional, one wonders why I bother at all?
If for no other reason, the discipline and persistence required to establish an arbitrary habit are a pro-active way to prepare myself for the involuntary changes that have been visiting me (and everyone I see) with unprecedented frequency: (COVID! Quarantines! School, restaurant, airport closures! New strains! Vaccine supply and eligibility!) You get the idea . Developing the resilience that enables me to respond, correct course, re-imagine and otherwise persist in overcoming obstacles to my brilliant plans, is a good kind of habit to have.
So I’m going to experiment with how long it takes me to establish a fail-proof habit of blogging, composting, and now, (drum-roll please) playing the ukulele. I’ve been in possession of my new ukulele for almost a week and have yet to establish any intention to, let alone make a habit of, practice.
In fact, I’ve yet to take it out of the package.
There’s the actual ukulele. Nicely wrapped in white squishy plastic. Then there are all sorts of bits and bobs, the sight of which, I find strangely draining. (Like a parking ticket I have yet to pay but look at every day). There are extra strings. A tuner. Six colorful felt picks. So far so good. A left-handed chord chart that is truly mind-boggling. Tiny fingerboard-position stickers that go on the neck of the ’uke’, but which will require some serious manual dexterity. A self-inking chord stamp of as-yet-unknown utility. A book telling all about the ukulele. A nifty looking case. A strap. (Ok. I can handle that.) And maybe more. But I can’t bring myself to go near the couch where it sits to sort through all of it, to tame the beast as it were.
That said, I now have a handle on how I initiate change. I procrastinate. I talk about it. A lot. I make my intentions as public as seems reasonable, and then feel compelled to follow through lest I be judged, mocked, ridiculed etc. (Psychology texts call this “external referencing”. ) Hence the mention, in last week’s blog, of learning to play the ukulele. History tells me that I will approach that goal in my usual crab-walking fashion. (In case you’re unfamiliar with the term, a crab-walking approach is a sideways trajectory that the crab is anatomically forced to execute. No amount of wishing, hoping, thinking and praying will change what is the crab’s evolutionary inheritance. You can’t make a crab walk straight. It just is what it is.)
Figuratively speaking, crab-walking suggests a cautious, oblique (aka indirect) approach that has even been seen, by some, as sly or devious. However, for me, crab-walking is an arbitrary strategy that I’d like to grow out of. It means, in re: the ukulele, that I will move the bundle of related items back and forth from the counter to the couch, to the dining room table, and, as I sometimes do with laundry that desperately needs folding, to the bed I intend to sleep in this evening. I will eventually unpackage it bit by bit. As I have just now done! (Since I’m making this public, I have to demonstrate SOME progress). Next will be a text to my musician friend to set a date for an initial lesson. (Done. Tuesday at 1:00!) This will force me to do as much relevant reading and organizing as I can before that appointment happens. I have my pride, after all. And, with these small advances achieved, I heave a sigh of relief and reward myself with a small bowl of potato chips.
What has this to do with a clean house, a wasted life, or how long it takes to change or establish a habit? As with the crab, it’s about knowing what is possible and what is, constitutionally speaking, not possible. It’s not possible to have a perfectly kept house and yet make any kind of creative progress. Change is not possible if I don’t want any disruption to the status quo. (The bugs, mess and smell of the compost). To establish any new habit means enduring the discomfort of letting go of the old. Resisting that which resists in me. Day after day. Week after week. Until it becomes second nature. No “presto; change-o” for me. It’s Just. Not. Easy.
But by my count, I have already taken eleven steps to better blogging. A few dozen steps (if you count the actual distance to the tumbler) to consistent composting. And, NOT counting the shuttle between couch and counter, several solid paces towards ukulele playing. And that’s good enough for today.
Pass the chips, please.