When I started this blog, I had a vague idea of blogging every two weeks.
Then I missed my deadline for one post in my second month and decided I’d alternate between two posts and one post every month.
This worked for three more months, until life happened and I felt like crap about myself for two whole months, resulting in no posts.
“It’s okay,” I said to myself in August. “I’ll just pretend that that was my summer break and keep up with the pattern like nothing happened. Of course, then came October, and I got inspired by something on Twitter, resulting in two posts instead of one, like the pattern had demanded.
At which point, I tried to return to the pattern, but then came January and I ended up with four posts (I think it was the air).
In February, I crashed and just put up one post.
Then life things happened that caused me to start rethinking what I was doing with this blog, and I decided I wanted to do things differently. This has resulted in three straight months of two posts each… until today, that is. But that’s because this is important.
I keep hearing that being consistent is a very, very good thing. If you’re consistent, then people know that you’re reliable and generally think more highly of you.
Of course, the words “reliable” and “fun to be around” aren’t necessarily found in the same sentence, but that’s because the second part depends more on content than a calendar.
For the past few months, I’ve really wanted to write a post every week. No-one’s making me do this. The desire just blossomed within me, slowly unfolding until it just started happening (this is actually a strategy of mine when I know I should say something, but I feel uncomfortable saying it: I just let the words push behind my lips until I get distracted and they burst forth of their own accord -it’s much less awkward than you might think).
Except the “started happening” has only been the past two weeks, and it has happened because of that lovely flower, and not because of any conscious decision. This week, however, I had to do it on purpose.
Why? Because things bursting forth of their own accord only have so much energy. It’s like pushing off from the side of a pool: you only get propelled so far before you have to start swimming in order to keep moving forwards.
Yesterday, I went to bed with the full intention that I’d write a post today.
This morning, I woke up with the full intention that I’d write a post today.
All of today, I did everything else with the full intention that I’d write a post today.
Now, it’s technically tomorrow, and I’m still not done writing the post but, by golly, I fully intend to finish it before I go to sleep.
Who was it that said the road to hell is paved with good intentions, again?
Before I started writing this, I had a plan for a different post (it may end up happening in the future, or it may not. Everything depends on whether the idea I have needs development, and what it looks like when that development comes to maturity). I wanted to write it today, because I really want to write a post once a week, and I want that post to come out every Wednesday. I want to be consistent.
When I told myself this, my heart balked.
“You’re not consistent,” it said. “You’re amusingly inconsistent, and late with a quirky story when you do come too near consistency.”
Well, darn you, heart. I don’t want to be like that. I want to be consistent. I want to be dependable. Consistency is a good thing.
“No, it’s not. Consistency goes against who you are. It’s not your nature. You’re not supposed to be able to have any kind of structure in your life except that which is imposed from the outside. Having internally-sourced plans and desires for your day just won’t work because you’re not the kind of person who takes control of life. You are still and let life flow around you.”
Eff that. Being consistent because I want to in the manner that I want to is the healthiest way I can live my life. Just like grammar is the structure that allows for endless creativity that is the hallmark of true language, consistency is the structure that allows for endless opportunity in life.
“Hah! Not true! If you lock yourself into some kind of routine for the rest of your life, you’ll get bored. And you know what you’re like when you get bored. You stop trying and you miss out on things that you would have grabbed onto if you hadn’t been so painfully bored. You always get bored eventually. That’s why you’re not consistent. You don’t have the attention span needed for anything longer than I say you’re comfortable with.”
(My heart really isn’t the domineering type. No-one’s heart is. Usually, it’s a fantastic leader, and does far more good for me than my mind ever could. It just gets really stressed when my life starts stepping beyond the limitations of who I believe I am, so it tries to get everything back in line with my beliefs, even if that means undermining everything I’m doing.)
At this point in the conversation, I can’t use logic to win. I can’t convince my heart the way I’d convince my mind. My mind’s already convinced and raring to go; my heart just keeps reigning it back. I’m like a boulder sitting on the apex of a mountain.
That was a very bad example. Ain’t no way I’m going downhill by opting for consistency.
I’m like a rock climber who has been stuck for a while and is 100% ready to drop back down, but then I’ve found another handhold. The problem is, I’m going to have to stretch to grab that handhold, take a bit of a risk in going for it. It would be so much easier just to drop down. I mean, look at how far I got! When I get down, I’ll throw myself a party and congratulate myself for having gone as far as I did to make me feel better, and that will just reinforce my belief that I’m not meant to climb higher than a certain point.
Thing is, I’m not on some dinky little rock face. I’m climbing freaking Everest. No. I’m climbing Olympus Mons. I never plan on stopping. I never plan on cutting myself back down to size. I will always be going higher.
Other people can have their sinusoidal graph, their regular little mountains and valleys, but I’m not falling for that crap.
I will not chain myself.
Every day, I remind myself that I am free.
Every day, I believe that I am free.
Every day, I act like I am free.
Being consistent, deciding to stick to a schedule, does not, in any meaning of the word, imprison me. Believing that I am incapable of living out the choices I have made for the day does. A complete lack of consistency results in chaos, and I intend to live in peace.
If English didn’t have a grammar (that is, a system of ordering words that facilitates understanding), we wouldn’t have had the works of Shakespeare. We would have gibberish. We wouldn’t have The Lord of the Rings. We’d have ruined paper. We wouldn’t have poetry, songs, or video games.
Without a grammar, without true language, we wouldn’t even have society.
There’s a lot more than just this blog that’s brought me to this place. Beliefs have a way of affecting absolutely everything in our lives, and I’ve gotten sick and tired of my heart undermining me just because I’m more successful right now than I’ve ever been, and because that success has gone beyond the limits my beliefs have set for me.
Well, dear heart, looks like it’s time to kick myself in the butt.
Consider your beliefs about to be rewritten.