Edition #106: Breaking Bad (Habits)
Plus, my year of no shopping, funny Trader Joe's reviews, and tiny cabins
A Note From the Editor
In high school, Coke Zero was my kryptonite. I would snag an extra-large case of it from BJ’s on our monthly shopping trips and keep it stashed in the old refrigerator in the garage, hidden behind long-forgotten cold cuts and spare gallons of milk. Though I never did any formal research, I knew it was bad for me the same way you know not to walk through a park alone at night, instinctually. On the evenings I would be tempted to go for a second Coke Zero—one a day was my allotment—a voice in the back of my mind would whisper, “You’re probably going to get cancer.” I would sit in my room and weigh the pros and cons of the second can. Pro: it’s delicious, it has no calories, it’ll stop you from eating something with calories. Cons: potential cancer, lack of self-control, a second might lead to a third. These lists would weigh on my shoulders, that little fictitious angel and devil, until I made a choice. Usually, that choice was to get another Coke Zero. The first sip of the second can was always the sweetest, for it was tinged with the chemical flavor of guilt.
My mother has a similar bad habit; she’s a smoker. She gives up chocolate, her second favorite vice after smoking, for Lent every year. Any time we speak on the phone during March or April, she groans about how much she wants a chocolate bar, citing the amount of chocolate she’ll consume come Easter. At a birthday party last weekend, my mother refused a piece of chocolate cake, with regret—Lent. My brother-in-law asked why she didn’t just give up cigarettes every year instead. Wouldn’t that be more effective, overall? The party was bustling with kids, my mother’s grandchildren, all delighting in their generous slices of chocolate and vanilla cake. To the suggestion, my mother exclaimed, “Oh, I could never give up cigarettes. I like chocolate, but I love cigarettes!”
I’ve tried every tactic to convince her to quit smoking over the years. Guilt—don’t you want to meet my hypothetical children one day? Bribery—if you quit smoking. I’ll let you watch my hypothetical children any time you want. Threats—if you don’t stop smoking, I’m never going to have children. None of it works. The last time I was in Florida for a visit, I took a different approach on the topic. “If I could guarantee you’d live an additional ten years if you quit smoking right now, would you?” She said she would, and I tried to use this response as the logical basis for my argument—you’ll likely live longer if you quit today, so why not stop? Her rebuttals were vague and religious. God has a plan for her, she’s going to die when she’s going to die, she could quit tomorrow and then get hit by a car, so what’s the difference? You’ll notice these are not points I can refute, for they are utter nonsense. Slowly and against my will, I’ve begun to find peace in the fact that I cannot force her to change her ways.
Bad habits are funny like that. We know what we are doing is wrong, that it is ultimately unhealthy for us, and yet we continue right along, finding justification for our actions in the most roundabout ways. According to science, there are several reasons for this. First is a general lack of awareness of the severity of the consequences of our actions. It’s short-term thinking coupled with denial; my mother is a prime example of this. Another reason is that humans are prone to pleasure-seeking behaviors. Many bad habits release dopamine, making us so happy at the moment that we begin to associate the action of doing whatever we’re doing with experiencing joy. The second Coke Zero, the third. The feeling of the cold can in the palm of my hand, my mouth flooding with saliva at the melodic sound of the tab popping open, the jubilation of the first, spicy sip.
This month, I decided to be sober. There was no good reason for it except that my friend said she wasn’t drinking, and I figured saving some money and clearing space in my mind would be a good thing, so I joined in. My sleep has been steady and consistent. I’ve been exercising regularly—thanks to the pandemic, when exercise graduated from something I felt required to do to something that genuinely relieves me of stress and anxiety. I’m not eating meat at home and I’m cooking the vast majority of my meals, so my stomach issues have been much more manageable. On the surface, I’ve begun to get the striving-to-be-holistic lifestyle down. Living this way no longer requires extreme effort, because it has gradually become habitual.
And yet, there are a few crucial areas of life in which I am continually making choices I know will cause me pain. In the romantic arena, for example, I have written a list of qualities I would want in a potential partner—kind, reliable, independent, a good listener— and taped it to a hidden space in my bedroom. I always promise myself I’ll keep an eye on the list while I’m dating. But as I continue to forge potential relationships, I’ve found myself consciously choosing to ignore the list, to ignore the glaring warning signs that this person not only doesn’t have any of the qualities I’m looking for, but is also likely to co-create a set of circumstances that will send me on a spiral. Still, I’ve trudged forward. Maybe it’s because I like when people like me, or maybe it’s simply the allure of knowing something is bad for me and wanting it for that exact reason. It’s as delusional as it is human, ever reaching for the forbidden fruit, taking a big, juicy bite despite your better judgment, and crumpling to the ground shortly thereafter.
The not-so-great habits extend to my creative life, too. When I quit my full-time job last fall to pursue freelance writing, I promised myself I would dedicate a majority of my time and energy to my creative work, a feat I found impossible to fit into my former schedule. November passed, I was focused on getting new clients to pay my bills. Then December, I was preoccupied with Omicron. Then January February March. I wrote, directed, and produced one fully creative project, but I can’t say I’ve formed anything close to a consistent habit. “But I’m working!” I tell myself, “I’m doing good, I’m running my own business!” Those things are true, but it is also true that I’m avoiding consistent creative writing for reasons I cannot articulate. In the words of my mother, “I could write an Oscar-worthy script today and get in a plane crash tomorrow!” I can think of endless reasons to put off taking these simple, crucial steps needed to pursue my dreams, the same way I can conjure countless justifications for why I’ve continued dating various people who aren’t able to care for me the way I need to be cared for. Tomorrow. Tomorrow, we’ll change.
As I was doing research about bad habits and why we pursue them for this essay, I came across a few tidbits of information that brought me comfort. One therapist said, “Every habit you've ever picked up is there, somewhere, in your neural network, just waiting to be rediscovered.” In this line of thinking, our habits become permanent parts of us, both good and bad. In this I hear: if I can find a way to form healthier habits around dating and prioritizing time for my creative work, then those habits will always be with me.
The second, and more impactful tip came from a New York Times article about productivity. The author said, “Often our productivity struggles are caused not by a lack of efficiency, but a lack of motivation. Productivity isn’t a virtue. It’s a means to an end.” He goes on to suggest connecting to the reason you wanted to do the thing in the first place is vital. Instead of forcing yourself to power through, identify your why— a simple exercise I had not tried.
The next task on my creative docket is writing a script for a short film, in hopes I will be able to raise money to get it produced to try my hand at directing in a more formal setting. When I paused to think about the “why” behind the desire, I realized I have been thinking the project as just one tiny step on a very long, steep climb to getting where I want to be in my career. Instead of feeling motivated, this leaves me feeling overwhelmed and lethargic. I began to think about the film itself, about why I wanted to make it, about the important social matters I’ll be able to explore in the script, about who might see the film one day, and the conversations it could spark. From this vantage point, the task at hand no longer feels impossible. I’m going to try to remember this simple trick—connecting to the why instead of powering through. And I’ll get started first thing tomorrow.
Cheers, my dears, and as always, thanks for reading. If you’re a free subscriber, this week’s edition will be limited to essay-only. You’ll get the full edition the first and the last week of every month.
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