Did I Mention Lunacy?

I procrastinate.

I complain about things I could change, if I changed. I don’t change them. Then I complain about them again.

I fear things that haven’t happened yet.

I know this is stupid. I tell myself it’s stupid. I explain, quite rationally, why worrying about an imaginary future is a terrible use of the very real present.

Then I do it again.

I eat food I know is bad for me. Food that makes me feel bad. Food that may very well contribute to shortening the life I’m simultaneously worried about shortening.

This is apparently my strategy for longevity.

I trust people I logically know I shouldn’t trust because some stubborn part of me believes people can be better.

Sometimes they are.

Sometimes they remind me why logic exists.

I hate on myself.

Then I tell myself I’m okay with who I am.

Then I hate on myself for not being a better version of the person I just said I was okay with.

At some point I practice gratitude.

I look around at this improbable life I’ve somehow managed to assemble and remind myself how fortunate I am.

Then I tell myself I don’t deserve any of it.

Gratitude. Self-loathing. Gratitude.

Very efficient system.

And yet, somehow, I’m still here.

Still curious.

Still making things.

Still learning things.

Still starting projects I may never finish and finishing things I once thought I couldn’t start.

Still trying to eat better after eating badly.

Still trying to worry less after worrying too much.

Still trusting people after learning not to.

Still trying to become a better human being after repeatedly demonstrating that I am, in fact, a human being.

I believe better is a direction, not a destination.

The problem is that apparently I prefer the scenic route.

I go forward. I circle back. I wander down alternate paths. I repeat mistakes with slight variations, presumably to make them feel like new research.

And somehow, almost imperceptibly, the circles move.

An inch here.

A lesson there.

A little more awareness.

A little less stupidity.

Sometimes.

Maybe that’s what I’ve misunderstood about becoming better.

I keep imagining it as a straight line traveled by some future, disciplined version of myself who drinks enough water, exercises every day, fears nothing, trusts wisely, eats vegetables voluntarily, finishes what he starts, and possesses the emotional stability of a Buddhist monk.

I have yet to meet this man.

Instead, I got me.

Contradictory.

Fearful.

Hopeful.

Self-critical.

Grateful.

Stubborn.

Occasionally ridiculous.

And apparently unwilling to quit.

Maybe that’s enough.

Not because I have figured anything out.

Not because I’ve conquered my flaws.

And certainly not because I’ve stopped going in circles.

But because every time I come around again, I seem to be standing just slightly farther ahead than the last time.