Balancing Act: Work, Play, and Pixie Dust III

I am still alive! My absence was rather involuntary as I was in the process of moving, but here I am in late October writing the third update of my year-long self-development journey. To make more sense of this article, I recommend that you read Balancing Act: Part I and Balancing Act: Part II before diving in.

Urgency, changes, and beginnings.

For the past few months, I have spent a good amount of time over at my boyfriend’s place, or rather his parents’ place (which they unenthusiastically visited once or maybe twice a year). Naturally, I didn’t have a room of my own and, to be frank, I didn’t need one. All I needed was a desk. At first, I worked in the kitchen, setting up on a round Structube table with a marble-like finish. Shortly after, I was upgraded to a massive, wooden desk. A desk, which proved to be a piece of silent luxury, until it was sold.

Surprise! The house was being put on the market, and everything inside the house was being auctioned off. My boyfriend and I spent the majority of August on Zillow and Condo.ca in hopes of finding a suitable dwelling. We were successful, but at what cost? In my frantic, obsessive apartment hunt, I have completely neglected Ripe Reflections.

My other goals, however, were not forgotten. I had successfully adhered to my sleep routine, worked out (for the most part), and did my reading (for the most part). I did not code or write, and truthfully, I don’t regret it. I realized that I wanted to approach these side-goals as an inexperienced, yet enthusiastic runner approaching a marathon – the goal was to cross the finish line, not run at a sub 4-hour pace.

I worked out until the end of August and spent the remaining days of summer hunting down an IKEA Brimnes bed, which was as difficult as searching for the Holy Grail with nothing but a vague prophecy and a hunch. I started re-reading The State of Affairs by Esther Perel after abandoning it more than a year ago; however, in light of such tumultuous circumstances, the book was once again tossed aside and forgotten. August was a whirlwind of responsibilities stacked like a teetering tower of objects. Just when I managed to balance the cup, the milk, and the cake, I dropped the fish on the rake. Looking back, there were three key takeaways:

All of us have routines, even those who say they don’t. We have our habits that translate into patterns of behavior, which ultimately become our modi operandi. Many people conflate routines with ruts, and they are not incorrect in doing so, because these concepts represent two sides of the same coin. The distinction lies in perception – seeing the routine as a cage turns it into a rut, seeing it as salvation brings us the joy of doing.

Midway through August, I briefly lost my working space and time, causing my routine to come to a halt. It was only natural to slow down; however, I did not realize that a brief hiatus could stretch indefinitely. I had moved to our new apartment in the first week of September, but it took me almost two months to concentrate on writing again. That’s when I realized that even activities I love – like writing – need structure to survive. Creativity alone isn’t enough to sustain progress. This is true of all human endeavors – we are too fickle as species to achieve consistency without structure.

Routines provide us with natural structures that eliminate choice. Paradoxically, humans can benefit from the lack of choice if the only remaining option is designed as a positive. In other words, if your routine is designed in such a way to encourage growth in any area of your life, you will have no choice but to grow. It will no longer matter whether you want to do X or Y, because you will do without thinking about it. A well-designed routine is seamless and indispensable due to its simplicity. It compels you to act out of habit, without having to think about the action.

I have confessed earlier that I did not work on some of the goals in the month of August and that I don’t particularly feel bad about my lack of effort. This is largely due to staying consistent in regard to my grand, yearly goal of waking up no later than 10 o’clock. Knowing that I have not lapsed into my degenerative nocturnal lifestyle has helped me retain hope in my progress despite smaller regressions. I could not flagellate myself when I so clearly made an effort in some aspect of my life.

I think it is important for all of us to have challenging, and yet achievable yearly goals. Goals that involve targets requiring daily action, even if in the aggregate they are as simple as going to bed on time and waking up before midday. These goals ensure a sense of accomplishment, which is needed in our demanding adult lives. As children, we are constantly rewarded for good behavior – stickers, candies, gifts from Santa – fostering a strong sense of accomplishment, but as adults, we face increasing societal demands and decreasing recognition. Our achievements are confined to occasional promotions and the rare consummation of major milestones such as marriage, birth of a child, or retirement.

The truth is that it is easy to feel stuck as an adult, because we are very rarely celebrated. We live our lives seeking a sense of accomplishment either from a boss or a partner, perhaps even the general public, but we are not always fortunate enough to receive it. When that validation isn’t there, we start doubting ourselves in a maddening loop: we think we can’t achieve anything because we haven’t achieved anything, and round it goes. But a yearly goal, grounded in daily actions, breaks the cycle. Each day becomes a small victory, a reminder that we’re capable of staying on course. This daily progress restores a sense of control, reminding us that we’re achieving something, even if it’s just consistency.

In the past, I believed that discipline is determination that yields faultless results. A disciplined person is stoic, unaffected by unforeseen circumstances. They can be distinguished from the rest of us mortals by an unbreakable pattern of consistent results and actions.

I wanted to be disciplined. Being a perfectionist, I wanted to have an immaculate record of my endeavors. I wanted to achieve perfect self-control and defeat the circumstances that often towered over my abilities. Rather than yielding to the pressure of the situations in which I found myself, I wanted the situations to yield to my willpower instead. Perhaps a part of me is still fixated on that linear understanding of self-control; however, August has taught me a more nuanced interpretation of discipline.

Discipline in a broader sense is one’s ability to continue on their path in the face of adversity and failure. It is not about a perfect track record as it is about consistent effort. It is not about faultless execution as it is about an unyielding drive to achieve or become something. At its root, discipline is meant to teach us the right attitude to life – a disciplined approached is stubborn, but also forgiving. It reinforces our belief in ourselves not through cruel judgement, but through positivity and hope. It teaches us that it is okay to fail so long as you attempt again.

I hope you enjoyed reading this article. If you felt inspired or otherwise motivated, consider writing to me on Instagram – I’d love to hear your thoughts. Stay tuned for Part IV, where I will discuss the link between difficult goals and improved outcomes, postponement of goals, and our addictive neurochemistry. If you’re someone who’s struggled with setting ambitious goals only to lose steam, or if you’ve ever wondered how our brains get hooked on the thrill of progress, make sure to come back for the September Issue.