Why We Fear Habits

Dedicated to the memory of Stephen R. Covey.

It all started with a toothache. Enjoying a lavish all-you-can-eat dinner in the middle of a vacation with my family, I happily chomped into some peel-and-eat shrimp—and discovered I had not peeled as thoroughly as I should have. The result was a sharp pain in one of my molars, that sudden and unexpected kind of pain that scares as much as it hurts, thanks to its uncertain origin.

But in this case, I knew the feeling all too well. This strange toothache likely meant the beginnings of a chipped tooth, a minor dental malady I’d experienced the year before.

My Mom suggested I see the dentist ASAP upon arriving home. I resignedly agreed, reflecting on my decided lack of flossing since my last visit. I have an excellent dentist, and I have made it a sort of personal tradition to try to buoy his faith in mankind by showing for appointments with impeccable flossing habits—the Holy Grail of dentistry. Having kept a dreadful routine of biweekly or—I shudder to admit it—monthly flossing, I felt in no condition to visit the dentist any time soon.

But my Mom replied—and note this well, dear reader, because it is the core of what I have to say here—“Don’t worry. You can accomplish a lot in a little time.” I resolved then and there to floss that very night—which I just did before writing this. I may wake up tomorrow with slightly sore and swollen gums. It will be up to me to work through the initial phase of discomfort and ready myself for my impending dental visit. And if I stick to it, I will be fine. My Mom was right—a lot can be accomplished in just a little time.

We are afraid to revive neglected habits. Why? Because we fear that we will not be able to surpass or even reach our prior achievements. Can the former runner still run that 6-minute mile? Can the high school clarinetist still hit those high notes? Has the history buff forgotten who the 18th President was? It would take a long time to remaster these skills or relearn these fields of information, and always with the looming uncertainty in the background, the question of creeping Doubt: “Could you still be any good?”

The question, though, is irrelevant. People pursue passions because they love them, not just because they are proficient at them. Generally the two go together anyway, but even a rank amateur is still, as G.K. Chesterton pointed out, a “lover” of the thing pursued, because the word “amateur” literally means “lover.”

So if this is your fear, cast it out for the irrelevancy that it is. Perhaps you will only run an 8-minute mile now—but the point is, you’ll be running a mile again! And the same could be said for any revived skill or hobby.

The other fear we often face in reviving an old ability is more absurd, but perhaps even more common: we avoid reviving a habit simply because we fear we might not keep up the habit. Let’s face it, we’ve all been there. We start a habit, it goes well for three days, or maybe a week—and then it all goes down the drain. Something comes up; life gets in the way, as it is wont to do. How is the busy working man or woman supposed to find time to pursue passions?

Hmm. This is a tough conundrum, isn’t it? Well, actually, no. It’s not. There’s a simple solution, and here it is.

Set aside a small amount of time each day (between 5 and 15 minutes) to devote to practicing/building/enhancing/expanding/exercising/refining/reviewing whatever it is that you want to improve. It’s not rocket science, but the two ingredients essential:

1. Small amount of time (5-15 minutes). Less than 5 minutes is so inconsequential as to be nearly pointless, and is easily overlooked or forgotten in a busy schedule. More than 15 minutes begins to be a serious problem for those same busy people. But 15 minutes or less is impossible to refuse. If someone can’t set aside 5 special minutes out of their day, they need to fix their schedule so that they can.

2. Everyday. Fitness guru Jack LaLanne, who died seriously ripped at the age of 96, always insisted that a healthy person work out every day—never miss a workout, even if it has to be a small one. Now for Jack LaLanne, this meant several hours of swimming and weightlifting. For us, it might be a 5 minute jump-rope session, 10 minutes of studying Spanish, or 15 minutes of noodling around on the piano. But the consistency is the point. In his excellent book The Rhythm of Life, Catholic author Matthew Kelly points out that coastlines are changed by daily, repetitive crashings of water against rock. One splash of water, no matter how large, will not reshape an entire coast. Only the reliable, regular waves, rolling in from the deep blue day after day, year after year, century after century, can change the shape of a continent. The force of habit, says Kelly, repeated day after day in a disciplined routine, can have the same effect by reshaping one’s life.

So why worry about dropping a newly-acquired habit? Set a modest goal, and go for it. If you don’t succeed with that, figure out why. If it was a problem of willpower, gather your spirit and try again. If it was a problem of circumstance, address the circumstance or alter the goal.

I believe that the world would be a much greater place if everyone was actively involved in some passionate pursuit of a hobby, skill, sport, art, craft, or otherwise that adds to the world in some way, even if it is just their own world or those the ones closest to them. The human being is a wondrous creation capable of many wondrous things.

So what are you going to start going today? Start a new hobby, or dust off an old one. Give yourself the opportunity you need to, in Stephen Covey’s memorable words, “sharpen the saw.”

Good luck, and God bless you!

Determinedly,

Joezilla

Guided Drift and the Paradox of Faith

"I am glad that I've been able to do what I've done and not been sidetracked along the way. A teacher of mine calls it guided drift. Isn't that wonderful? You're drifting, and yet you've got a rudder."

As Mr. Rogers so satisfyingly puts it in the quote above, life becomes a positive pleasure when we know where we're going and allow this knowledge of our course to give us peace. In order to live effective lives we need to have a purpose, a continuous thread that unites our individual days into a coherent work. That is why Mr. Rogers talks about having a rudder. We need to guide ourselves, and we need to rely on something to give us that guidance.

For a long time I looked at life believing that we all have some inspired moments, and we also have a great many uninspired moments. We must live (so I thought) on those inspirations to get us through the uninspired periods of life, which are far more common. There is a grain of truth in this. We do have peak experiences of happiness, hope, promise, joy, and love—followed by the proverbial descent back to planet Earth, in which we remember our troubles (and perhaps feel a little gloomy that we aren't so inspired anymore).

That said, I now realize that it is not enough merely to live on the inspired moments, like rations on a trip through the desert. No, I believe that God calls us to something greater than that. You see, people living solely on previous inspirations—and waiting for future ones—are not focusing on the day-to-day business of life. They are attaching themselves to that song that used to empower them so much, or they are voraciously rereading that one quote that used to give them such confidence, or talking to that one friend who always cheers them up...the list goes on and on. The point is, they are chasing that feeling rather than living it out. They could be cheering someone else up. Instead, they're focusing on how much they themselves need cheering up.

One of the greatest pieces of advice my Mom has ever given me is: "The best solution for depression is to do something for someone else—to get out of yourself." It is so true, and will doubtless lead to better spirits if we are feeling depressed.

But what about all the moments inbetween the highs and lows? What about the average days, when we drift through our daily grind with no sense of inspiration or mission? We need some thread of constancy to call us back to living our best.

The answer, as is often the case, lies in a common word with a life-changing meaning:

FAITH.

Faith is the answer. Now when I say "faith," I don't just mean "religious belief." I am talking about a lifestyle—a worldview that we can call up with an act of the will, and should work to maintain in every waking (and sleeping) moment. If we can manage to make it part of our modus operandi, it will change our lives—I'll place a 100% guarantee on that.

This worldview has two big components.

The first is the consciousness of God and His plan. The person of faith believes, deep inside, that there is a God Who loves us all and Who has a plan for every individual—a plan that, if followed, will bring them to the self-fulfillment of their highest dreams and deepest longings. I say "self-fulfillment" because we play a role in this plan. We create our own reality, at least in terms of how we respond to the outside world.

But the person of faith can take all of this in stride and proceed peacefully because he knows that if he follows God's commands, then things will go rightly for him. Life will be good. Unexpected events may happen (look at the story of Job!), but God has a plan. We can move forward in peace and happiness, because it all turns out okay in the end. It's pretty amazing, actually. Imagine being able to walk through life in perfect peace. In theory, we can do just that—because God has told us that He loves us and wants the best for us.

That's one part of faith. The other is prayer. God loves us, and wants the best for us. He also wants us to grow closer to Him. One way of describing Heaven, in fact, is a perfect relationship with God. Nothing gets in the way. We remain ourselves, but we are united with Him in some unimaginable and infinitely wonderful way.

But that comes later. Right now, stuff gets in the way. Lots of stuff. Problems, people, things, emotions, sins...the list once again goes on and on! But God has given us ways around these impediments. One of the foremost of these—one of the most foundational practices for a Christian—is prayer. Praying is communing with the Creator. It's a way of accepting His constant, daily calls and saying, "I love you too, God. Now what do you want to tell me today?"

For years, I have vastly underestimated the transformative potential of prayer in the individual life. But now I see that prayer is that thread of constancy. It is what keeps us close to God, even in the midst of struggles. Saying the Rosary or part of the Rosary (a decade or two) every day is such a great way to do this. It will have a lovely effect on your life. Fulton J. Sheen once described saying the Rosary as "saying 'I love You' to our Father." I believe he was right. If you've never prayed the Rosary before, feel free to check out this link for all the instructions and prayers: http://www.rosary-center.org/howto.htm.

Now, I know what you're thinking (if indeed there is anyone out there to be thinking anything): "Great. You've pontificated on faith, but you haven't answered the question of how we stop the roller coaster ride of ecstatic highs, gloomy lows, and wishy-washy times inbetween. I don't think that talking about faith means I'll never feel down again."

Ah, but therein lies the paradox of faith! Faith is not about inspiration or emotion. Faith is believing that your spiritual life is significant, that what you pray makes a difference. Faith is believing that when you pray—whether you feel inspired or not—you are doing something of unfathomable significance. Faith is a lifeline that carries us through whether we are experiencing a high, a low, or a "sideways." It does not guarantee us a life of constant inspiration, but it allows us to avoid that need altogether—because it gives us a higher perspective on life. When we lift our concerns up to God, He lifts us up too.

It's all about that guided drift Mr. Rogers talked about. Faith is our rudder, our guide, but it also gives enough peace to let us drift.

Here's to an hour, day, week, month, year, and life of guided drift,

Joezilla

Free Will and Confidence

I can't speak for you, dear reader, (assuming there is a reader to describe as dear), but I know that the happiest moments of my life have been characterized by more than just happiness; they are always accompanied by a deep-seated sense of confidence, akin to rushing water. Happiness doesn't seem to last, but why should confidence ever leave us? Happiness is an emotion, but confidence is a choice. Happiness is fickle like the weather, but confidence is as freely chosen as the coat we put on in the morning.

Unfortunately, confidence is not an easy choice. Confidence demands effort, and occasionally means butting heads with genuine opponents or facing up to over-inflated masks of ego. Either way, it means we have to step out of the comfort zone.

Human instinct tends toward safety and comfort. It's just what we prefer. This is not a curse, but it does force us to put some effort into how we live our lives.

Confidence is a choice, but a choice that our nature pushes us away from. And here is where the trump card comes in, that wonderful aspect of humanity that always comes in to save us when we've worked ourselves into a self-reflective quandary about our nature. Ladies and Gentlemen, I present to you, FREE WILL. Yes, we are endowed with free will, which implies that, at least in theory, we are capable of complete self-control.

Although we do not take advantage of this fact nearly as much as we could/should, the fact remains that in every moment, we are presented with a choice—the choice of what kind of person we want to be. We can be heroes or heels, champions or chick-a-dees, mavericks or mice. Who do you choose to be? Every moment demands a response to this question. If we ever feel a lack of confidence (and as was said, our nature tends toward that), all we need to do is visualize the person we want to be, and realize that a conscious choice on our part will transform us into that person.

One final word of warning: confidence does not come from within ourselves. The choice to change, the free will that gives us the chance to change ourselves, is a gift from above. And once we do choose the road less travelled, the strength to walk it does not come from our own metaphorical muscles. Confidence comes from God alone! The Spirit is the rushing water that fills our hearts and minds, leading us to our destination. Without a firm foundation in the One Who laid the earth's foundations, our towers will topple pretty fast. It all starts with a firm trust and wonder at the power and love of our unfailing, superactive Father in Heaven. I'd say more, but I'd prefer to share the words of Jesus. No, not the Christ, not this time. (Not that guy who works at Toys R Us, either.) I'm talking about Jesus, son of Eleazar, son of Sirach--a.k.a. author of the Book of Sirach:

"Lively is the courage of those who fear the LORD, for they put their hope in their savior; He who fears the LORD is never alarmed, never afraid; for the LORD is his hope...."

And here's where the happiness comes in:

"He buoys up the spirits, brings a sparkle to the eyes, gives health and life and blessing. "

--Sirach 34:14-15, 17--

Stay strong!

Confidently,
Joezilla

The Entry Where I Spoil Matchstick Men (I’m serious)

I am currently experiencing one of those splendid and rarefied spans of moments of complete confidence and sheer inspiration. If I may borrow one of J.K. Rowling’s best ideas without glorifying her too much, I have just drunk a bottle of Felix Felicis. I see the path of life drawn out before me; and though the route is as unclear as ever, I do possess the two real essentials to a successful journey; the first is a goal, which I have had for years, thanks to the Catholic religion I was born into and have embraced as the Truth. The second essential, bestowed upon me yet again by divine inspiration, is the more elusive, as it involves more than just a willful leap of faith and devotion. The second is the modus operandi, the method of working—which, God bless it, comes out from behind the clouds of uncertainty every now and then to shine its light upon us.

I just finished watching the movie Matchstick Men. It tells a tale of loss, illusion, and redemption, and reminds us that if we keep our noses clean (morally as well as legally), we never have to worry about much. It tells us the tale of an expert of deception who has nonetheless kept a portion of his soiled soul spotless, a man who receives a life-shattering dose of his own medicine when he is taken in by several who do not share his scrappy scruples, and thus have a slight edge in the crafty craft of con-artistry. In the end, Roy’s decency is what destroys him, or at least what he assumed was “him.” What we find out, in the crucial moments at his ex-wife’s door, when the depth of the deception finally hits home, is that—although his life lies in a shambles, with almost no money, no worldly credentials, and no real family—he is just fine. Indeed, as Roy himself iterates with a fledgling but hopeful confidence, “everything’s all right.” Out of the ashes of the two-bit Phoenix that was Roy’s former life as a con-man, we see the real Roy rise up; the Roy who forced himself to rationalize his spoils as “given, not taken,” the Roy who “never used violence,” the Roy who reached out to the nice checkout lady at the supermarket, like a withered plant inclining toward cracks of light through closed rafters. That is what carried Roy through to the end of his sinful life, and that, we finally see, is what carries him into the bright future. In the epilogue scene at the carpet store where Roy has built a clean livelihood, his brief meeting and parting with his “daughter” shows us that he has overcome any ill will which he might have held against his looters. We see a man who is free to fly because, in the words of G.K. Chesterton, like the angels he “can take himself lightly.” Matchstick Men reminds us that nice guys do not finish last—they may wind up in last place, but they always have time to work out of the hole and regain the good they were made for.

I suppose this movie just reminded me to be confident. After watching it, I realize I am ready to begin the next schoolyear. I feel like I can do exactly what I’m supposed to do. I’m excited to face opportunities to stand up for what I believe in, to proudly be the person God wants me to be; to be open to new possibilities, but also open to the mere continuation of old realities.

“To be content with where I am,
Getting where I need to be,
And moving past the past where I have failed.”

I am excited to exercise the grace which God has blessed me with this summer, to let the spiritual discoveries of these months germinate and flower into strong trees of good work and wholesome habits in my sojourns with the wider world. I am looking forward to the future months so intensely, and that is why my highest hopes are fulfilled by actually being plopped right here, in this moment, several weeks before all those busy days begin. One might say it is the final exam of summer school. Conventional wisdom, and Catholic theology, say that the way we finish the journey is the strongest indication of how we conducted it. Finishing strong is the only true reflection of a strong performance.

Did I learn anything this summer? Ha! How could I not have? I acted like an idiot enough (and felt bad about it) to learn quite a bit about compassion, authenticity, and honesty. At the same time, I also worked hard to build myself up, and thus learned the blessing and strength of good habits (and the easy poison of bad ones). I felt the push of a noble purpose and a steamrolling confidence drawn solely from the divine team I’m playing for.

I guess what I am trying to say is that these final weeks are the final test of this current crop of moments, and a sort of runway into the year. If I run this final stretch well, I will be ready to run the whole year. If I stumble, I may not get back up until next June. Spiritually speaking, that’s a long time down, way longer than I can afford.

So here I leave you, as always, at a crossroads; my decisions in the next few weeks will decide my ultimate destiny, of that I am sure. But then again, is that ever not the case?

Signing off with love and prayers for you,
Joezilla

Forcing Our Views

Listening to the "Throne Room/End Credits" music from the original Star Wars movie today reminded me of a truth which sounds suspiciously reminiscent of G.K. Chesterton. It is likely that I have copied this idea nearly verbatim from one of his writings. It is certain that I first learned the idea from his writings. However, it is also certain that I firmly believe in the idea myself. And since Chesterton no longer actively writes any new material on Earth (it's rather difficult, I hear tell, to write from the next world), someone must propagate this tried-and-true worldview, which, in all fairness, predates good old G.K.C. as well.

The idea is simply this: it is when man thinks he is seeing things rightly that he is actually seeing them wrongly. It is when one feels level-headed and realistic that one is actually being shallow and dull. It is when one lands back on Earth that one has set off on a flight of fancy.

What I'm trying to say is that there is so much more to life than we typically imagine. We tend to see our lives in terms of routines: I get up in the morning, I have breakfast, I go to work, I come home, I eat dinner, I go to sleep. And again. And again. It is disturbingly easy to fall into a mindset that essentially sets perseverance and appreciation as its highest goals: "If I can make it through this day without snapping at anyone, and perhaps even enjoying my routine a little, then I'll have been successful."

To view life in terms of a single day's accomplishment is a tragic waste of the potential of human life. Life is a story, an epic, an adventure. It has a narrative arc; characters enter the story, and leave, and sometimes return. We are imprisoned and escape, we fall in love, we pledge allegiance to great causes and fight to uphold them, we make tremendous sacrifices, and yes, eventually, we die, off to bigger and better things than anyone here could well imagine.

We have such short attention spans that it is hard to lastingly commit to this worldview. But the art of life lies in attaining difficult goods, in implementing behaviors that don't stick easily, but pay huge dividends when they do stick. So if you need a change in perspective, listen to the "Throne Room" song from Star Wars IV. Close your eyes, and let the music transport you to a galaxy far, far away. And when you open your eyes, realize that you live in such a galaxy yourself.

May the Force be with you!
Joezilla