I went to prenatal yoga at 11am yesterday. It was a Monday. Perhaps nothing has made me feel more at the top of the human food chain. Who does that? Who gets to change out of their pajamas at 10:30am, drive downtown on a Monday and spend 75 minutes doing yoga?
As it turns out, the answer really shouldn’t have been me. I only went because I can’t make my evening class this week, and at 31 weeks pregnant, I am fearful of what could happen to my poor body if I go a week without making sure it can still bend in half. But though I worked before and after the session, it screwed up my productivity of my entire day to the point that I just gave up around 7pm and decided to start again tomorrow.
But here’s the thing: That was just fine. I wasted a day of my regular productivity, and I was fine. I have a beautiful home, the mortgage for which I can afford, even with an occasional day off; I control my own schedule; I genuinely enjoy what I do, so if I spend 14 hours doing it tomorrow, that’s fine; I absolutely have 14 hours to dedicate to work each day; but I don’t have to. I stop when I want.
Who is this person? When, I began to wonder when assessing all of this, did I become a person surrounded by comfort? And exactly how is it going to destroy me?
Tis the season of lists, is it not? It begins in December with a barrage of lists summing up the year coming to a close, as well as projections for what’s to come in the next. Just as that starts to peter out, we start getting the lists of goals, new habits and tasks. Lists, lists, lists! As far as the eye can see and the interwebz can access!
There are somethings I do, even though I don’t really see the point of doing them. LinkedIn. Eating Asian food with chopsticks. Teaching every dog I’ve had to give me high five. They don’t benefit me in any way, but they seem like something people do, they don’t take too much effort, so I do them.
Mike recently installed a pull-up bar in our house, and I’m happy to report that, 13 years after high school phys ed, I am exactly as proficient as dangling and grunting and collapsing into a ball on the floor as I was then. Still got it!
Being amazing at pull-ups has fortunately never been a goal of mine, but that’s not to say I haven’t had goals I’ve failed miserably at attaining for years and years and years. My deal is that I’m super goal-oriented, so once I set a goal, I have a really hard time focusing on anything else until I reach it. For example, there is a part of my brain that still thinks I can hit a goal weight I never even reached in college, back when I worked about nine days a week. I truly let go of that goal consciously years ago because a) I’d rather have balance in my life than obsess about exercise, and b) it’s craziness. The fact that it was a goal and I never reached it though, still sticks with me. BECAUSE I LIKE SUCCEEDING AT MY GOALS.