I’ve been sticking to the habit. Each repetition yields a feeling of improvement. Every day I exercise my my mind my body and my soul. The body is the easiest part. Hit the gym. Observe growth.
The feeling of internal growth comes more slowly. Through awareness. And how it feels to get out of bed.
I feel improved. This is the kind of thing that I need. Coaching to develop good habits. Create a state of change. A state of growth.
Feelings are vibrations.
Like an old motor with a turbo.
You can’t expect to lurch into high speed.
First you need to find a straightaway, hammer down the gas and drop into third gear.
And then the turbo splashes more horsepower. After the lag-time.
Then you’ll sense acceleration.
Feeling is like that.
The turbo whines after a lag. And the charged feelings that stoke desire won’t come the moment your feet hit the bedside floor.
But what if you fuel yourself? A high protein breakfast and green tea. And ideas that spark the mind.
So here I am on my second day off. Two out of three.
Yesterday I had a perfect day.
But it started at noon! And today it seems I will start at nine.
Tomorrow I can see it starting earlier. My goal has always been three or four a.m.
At those hours I’ll have plenty of time to accomplish my goals.
But for a while I’ll have to set the course. Envision the straightaway. Put my subconscious in the driver’s seat.
And then fantasize about the destination. And the quality of my vehicle.
Others insist on happiness. And when I refuse their gift they tell my wife to “get used to it Sweetie Pie”. All I want right now is nothing. A moment to quit.
The scroll says that failure means missing your goal. How much I’ve stared at that. What does it feel like? To pass a finish line. The few times I managed to complete tasks were pitiful. Humbling.
Why do I do it? Why do I chase dreams of being great. Or just better. When I can’t seem to make the small changes that might help me along. I don’t accept failure. But I’ve been caught in its orbit. Carving around the event horizon of a black hole. Oblivion at port and escape to starboard. Huffing lungfuls into furling sails.
I feel easily confused. My limbs feel hot and my obliques shift like old rope. School wasn’t easy for me. And now it doesn’t feel any easier.
It’s time for this. Excuses slap at my edges like bats in a wind-tunnel. Testing for aerodynamics in hell.
Reminds me of deeper thoughts. All mind is one mind. Is the choice an illusion? Or is it the only Thing? The choice to DO.
And so Again. I must Do what I set out to Do. And the time available must be hewn from sleep. 3:00am is either ghastly or ambitious. I’m not sure. But tomorrow the buzzer will sound. And this time I’ll have a robe ready to hold me back from the bed. Stay up. Read. And finally Do.
Every day is a struggle. Not the day exactly. Or the night. But the unwoken state in between. Where unconsciousness battles the Will.
Cool pillow and heavy blanket. The sound of my wife breathing. Why do I prolong the process of waking up?
The struggle. To get up. To accomplish what I set out in my mind. It is always early. And I am always awake. Within the dream. A world of imagination and adventure. And torment. What it must feel like to be fully rested.
The rhythm of good habits. Broken by vacations and rising from strange sheets. And airbeds. And excuses.
I want to be fit. In order to do so I must train my body and mind rigorously. The time to do so is available to me only in the morning. Before work. Very early. And so I always set my phone to buzz long before the sun rises.
Bliss isn’t compelling to me. Hewing a masterpiece from my base self seems a worthy project. Mastering a few timeless arts and then instructing my future children. In Greatness.
And yet I don’t rise early. Why? I debate with my subconscious every morning. Tired arguments. My Ambition seems stronger than my Will. Not good. That must change.
Woke. In a world where most people sleep. Sleepwalk. Compelled to drone through favorite illusions. Most people seem happy. And powerless. Uneager to wake up.
Namaste. And all that crap.
Millennial woes are softened by expensive coffee in a paper cup. With a plastic lid. The last piece for the Insta. Tells people that you’re on-the-go.
Everyone has a personal brand.
Everyone posts a few sentences on Facebook. Seems motivational. Nice font. Good background. But who’s actually read Seneca? Who has the time for original sources when life has to fit into the hours after work.
My phone is full of great books. Unread. I plan to escape the loop of living. Seems exciting. Maybe that’s why I’ve stayed here all these years. Always the stack of unread books.
Back in bed now. Morning will come. My phone is set. And in the morning I’ll relive the struggle to arise. To become. To shrug off comfort. And yield to my Purpose.