The importance of streaks

Monday, I’ll hit 1700 days in a row on my Bible app–it keeps track for you. I don’t say this to pat myself on the back. Some of those days have been checking the box…I do it because that’s what I do, not out of a deep-seated allegiance to God. Some mornings, after a day where I’ve fallen short, I almost feel shame in doing it. But I do it anyway.

That’s the way with a streak.

Some days, you won’t need to spur yourself on. You’ll be thrilled to do whatever the activity is. The time will pass so quickly, you’ll be amazed you’re done. Other days, you’ll feel like you’re wasting your time. Every second will seem like an eternity.

There’s still value in keeping the streak.

In the Bible streak, I’m approaching God, the almighty creator of everything. If anyone deserves my best every single day, it’s him. It seems sinful to check the box in a prayer life. On the other hand, by showing up even when it feels like a burden, I get through the dry period to the next time I’m motivated and plugged in.

If I never fall away, I’ll be engaged when the dry period ends and I hit another growth spurt.

If you’re checking the box today, there’s value in your effort. Keep at it, even if it doesn’t feel elegant, even if you feel like your bludgeoning the activity to death.

Maybe not today or tomorrow, but at some point, the magic will return. Going through the motions today assures you’ll be there when the magic decides to come back.

Cultivating a habit of joy–for others

This morning, the cat was lonely and looking for attention. When the coffee’s ready, normally, I take it up to my office and start in my pre-work routine of this blog post and some other morning writing. But she wandered to where I was sitting, so I started to pet her. Normally, after two or three strokes, that’s enough and she wanders away.

This morning, she lingered. My wife was out of the house this morning, so the cat didn’t get her normal morning attention. It took a few extra seconds until she was ready to wander, but when I spent those few seconds, it seemed to bring her joy.

That’s all it took. The cat was happy and I felt good for making it happen.

Each day a situation presents itself where we can bring someone a taste of joy, and it only takes a few extra seconds. That’s time well-spent.

It’s easy to find things in life to be irritated by. It’s harder to find little bits of joy. It’s harder yet to find them for other people. But if we know where to look, we can bring that joy to someone else. It’s a habit I’m trying to cultivate.

Whatever you were built for, it wasn’t to lounge around

Lately when I wake up in the morning, I linger in bed a little longer than I’d like. I spend part of that time fantasizing about a life where I can linger indefinitely, then get up and do almost nothing all day. It’s a day without annoying work-related things or people IMing me with their problem of the moment. I won’t have to perform or accomplish anything for anyone all day long.

Then reality sets in.

As much as I’d love a life of leisure, it’s a good thing reality sets in. It tests me, sharpens me, makes me better.

It’s a uniquely human quality to long for a life of lazy luxury. (Domesticated cats already have that life.) But it’s ultimately bad for us.

Right now, I weigh less than I have since the 20th century. Every morning, I start with a set of devotionals. I do the Daily Stoic Journal and another line-a-day journal. I’ve exercised every day this year. Even when the Fibro’s acting up, I stretch for 45 minutes. Most mornings, I write a blog post (sometimes I do it ahead). Usually, I also work on some fiction writing, as well.

All of that comes before I start work.

And my work is better for it. Those habits help me continue on through whatever the day brings.

My goal in life isn’t to lie around and watch the world go by. It took a long time for me to figure this out, but my goal is to make it better for the people around me. Life will always have difficult aspects. I want to help reduce the number of things that are unnecessarily difficult. I can’t do that while I’m lounging in bed all day.

As difficult as it’s sometimes been, the Fibro has helped with that. It’s what led me to make a number of changes at the start of the year. Those changes have led to much of what I now do before work each morning. I’ll never embrace the Fibro–that would be crazy. But I can appreciate the ways in which it’s made me a better person.

And none of that’s happened lounging in bed.

It’s hard to extend forgiveness if you don’t accept it

My entire faith tradition is wrapped around forgiveness and the desire for a relationship. God could’ve stayed in heaven, whatever that is. Instead, he chose to come be with us–not in a modern air-conditioned palace with servants and rich food. He came at a time when life was difficult and uncomfortable, to a place that’s not forgiving.

And he forgave us for what we did to him and what we do to each other.

Godly kindness is countercultural in this world. While the Bible may say the meek inherit the earth, our view is more like the villain from The Magnificent Seven, who said, “If God didn’t want them sheared, He wouldn’t have made them sheep.”

Though we all pine for forgiveness, for we’ve all screwed up, its a concept that’s hard to believe in. I struggle to believe in forgiveness for myself. I know what I’ve done through life. I know what I deserve. And I struggle to believe that anyone would want to untie me from that judgement.

Yet, as a Christian, that’s what I’m supposed to believe. If I don’t believe in forgiveness, it’s hard to truly forgive others for the their wrongs, both real and imagined. For me, it’s not an angry force field that repels any trespasser. To borrow a phrase from Simon and Garfunkel, I build walls, a fortress deep and mighty, that none may penetrate.

It’s a bleak, lonely way to live.

It would be better if only I believed in forgiveness. You can’t really extend what you can’t bring yourself to believe in.

I want to forgive. I want to tear down the walls of separation. I want to believe in that miracle. Because if I believe in it, I can extend it to others–and maybe help them have the courage to chip away at their walls.

Maybe it’s an answered prayer

In the Bible, Paul talks about the thorn in his flesh, the “messenger from Satan to torment me and keep me from becoming proud.” Paul says he begged God three times to take it away. Each time, God said, “My grace is all you need. My power works best in weakness.”

Thursday and Friday were difficult days for me. Saturday kicked my ass. I blew off family plans and stayed home. It was the third day in a downward trend. Fortunately, yesterday was better. Today’s a mix bag. I woke up with pain and went for a run. So far, I’m not paying for that decision. We’ll see how the day goes.

God has either allowed or sanctioned the pain in my body. It will most likely be with me to one degree or another for the rest of my life. It’s a cruel master, whose lessons are taught with physical pain, fatigue, brain fog, and self-doubt.

But the lessons are valid.

As a person, I’m still far to willing to judge others from afar. This one’s stupid. That one’s lazy. That one over there, he’s incompetent. I can wear all those labels and more when the Fibro hits me. Some days, I just survive, doing enough to keep the lights on, but little else, because I’m tired and my body pulses with pain. Saturday, I barely left the house. I’ve been on work phone calls when I’ve had to ask what was just said because my train of thought derailed in the middle of a sentence.

My affliction has helped me better see those character flaws in myself. It’s made me more likely to see the strengths in others. Until recently, I’ve never understood the true weight of being a caregiver. I’ve never understood the guts required for someone with a chronic illness or condition to just get by day to day.

I’ll never celebrate my Fibromyalgia. But I’ll never consider it a complete loss. I’m weakened by my experience. I won’t consider some previous activities because of what might happen. I’m more likely to stay home than I used to be.

But my eyes are opened to new things. And I appreciate a lot of the things I already have. Exercise isn’t a burden, it’s a privilege. Steady work is a blessing, even if the day’s a little difficult. I no longer take a pain-free day for granted, as something I deserve and am entitled to.

I don’t understand God, but it’s at least possible he’s using Fibromyalgia to make me see new things. If that’s the case, it’s not a loss. In some ways, it might be a roundabout answer to my prayers to be a better person.

If you keep at it, change is inevitable

The changes I wanted to make felt impossible, especially when I first started trying. Every effort seemed to end in abject failure. I wish someone had been around to tell me that if I keep working at it, the change I want would inevitably happen.

I used to be an angry person. My viewpoint of myself as a loser–a lower-level cog who could be replaced on a whim without anyone noticing–colored every relationship I had. It hurt me at work, and it shaded my interpersonal relationships in ways that still linger.

Every day I’d say this was the day I’d be different. And then something “bad” would happen and I’d fall short. It fed my viewpoint as someone who couldn’t possibly change. Then I’d wonder why bother when I’m this screwed up–and the cycle would perpetuate.

Except I’m not an angry person today. I’m a generally reasonable person who infrequently gets angry. Because I did the work. I showed up every day, even after I failed. I tried again.

A good deal of the change came from the fact that I got wonderful coaching along the way. You coach can guide you, but you have to do the work.

I did the work. I kept at it when it seemed hopeless. And I worked through the perception of others, something that always lags reality.

Whatever you’re trying (in vain) to change, keep at it. The change will come. You’ll fall short again and again on the way. You’ll feel like giving up.

Don’t. Just show up again. One more time.

Then make that a habit.

Look for signs of change and believe them.

We have more power than we can conceive.

How little we truly own. And how much.

One of the lessons of stoic philosophy is how little we really own and control. Sure, we make mortgage payments on the house. We have some cars and our clothes and all the stuff we’ll eventually have to downsize. But we don’t really own them. Considering where we live, each hurricane season brings the chance all that stuff could get wiped away.

But there is the body. Certainly, we own our physical self. Otherwise, why bother exercising or eating well. Even the Bible says our body is our temple.

I’m currently sharing my temple with Fibromyalgia. It’s not a wonderful roommate. Beyond that, eventually each of us will have to give up our bodies, an action that typically happens against our will.

The only thing we really own is what we do. That’s the only thing we have complete control over.

Yesterday was a bumpy day. There were annoyances, but in most cases, I’d have left the day with a decent state of mind. Except I was tired. My body hurt and the Fibro was amplifying the pain, taking a local pain and making if feel body-wide. When you’re in pain, even a tiny pot hole you pass over on the road hurts more than it should.

I wasn’t an asshole, but I was crankier than I wanted to be. I viewed things through a darker lens that I might otherwise. The pain and lethargy were on the Fibro. The reaction was on me.

It’s a hard thing live with pain and still be what Jesus called us to be. It’s something I haven’t mastered. I journal, blog, and exercise (on hard days, it’s stretching) to help mitigate that. And I take stock and try to adjust my approach to be better. I recognize where I stand on the scale of people getting their ass kicked by health–and mine is relatively minor.

That’s all I can own. And it’s really everything.

When expectation leaves no room for gratitude

I wasn’t entitled to waking up this morning. I did nothing to earn any of the breaths I’ve taken since the start of the day. I didn’t deserve any beat of my heart since the calendar flipped.

I’m not entitled to the day going easily or to things working out in my favor. I’m not entitled to people cooperatively working toward a greater overall good.

I’m not entitled to mechanics or technology doing what they’re supposed to do. Or to people meeting their commitments.

I’m not entitled to my body acting the way I want. Or to being pain-free. I’m not entitled to my mind functioning in a structured fashion, to coherent thoughts or an ability to communicate those thoughts effectively.

I’m not entitled to affection, respect, or love.

All of those things are gifts. For society to function, we expect them. We need them. But we aren’t entitled to them. We aren’t entitled to our individual viewpoints and opinions being respected or embraced.

This isn’t a dour, pessimistic view of existence. It’s the opposite. It’s a realization of how little we’re entitled to and how much there is to appreciate.

It’s become fashionable to think that the world’s in a death spiral. If it’s not climate change or fascism that’ll doom us, it’s overbearing woke elites. There are threats everywhere. Your neighbor–the one who thinks differently–might be a bigger threat than the country aiming nuclear warheads at us.

In reality, when you consider what we’re actually entitled to and what we currently have, things are pretty damn good.

Entitlement’s a greedy, never-ending consumer of assumed rights. It’s a relentless, discriminating inspector of things, looking for any flaw to invalidate actions or efforts. Only then can we, the elect, be held up to the esteem we’ve earned.

When we deserve everything we have, and more, there’s no room for gratitude.

In reality, we’ve earned nothing. Our existence in the next moment isn’t guaranteed. It’s precious and valuable, a gift bestowed from whatever you consider to be its origin. If we aren’t entitled to even those basic things, how much room should we make to appreciate the things we assume will be there to make life better?

Seizing the day when the day’s not the best

If I’m honest, I’m not super excited about today. The Fibro’s been asserting itself, and I got acupuncture yesterday for the first time in about two months. If you’ve never done acupuncture before, there’s a hangover the first couple times.

Between them, while the pain isn’t off the charts, the lethargy score’s pretty high. I feel like there’s been a significant ass kicking. And the ass was mine.

Against that backdrop, today’s Daily Stoic Journal reading is a bit of a challenge. The theme is Carpe Diem. If you’re in my demographic, you can almost hear Robin Williams whisper it to his class. Seize the day, boys.

In the entry, he quotes Seneca, saying “As each day arises, welcome it as the very best day of all, and make it your own possession.”

I’m not sure I want to possess today. I’d like to return is for a different day. This one is a mess. Given the fact that today will never come again, I almost feel like I got cheated.

Unfortunately, there’s no customer service desk to process a return. There’s no phone tree, leading (with luck) to a human. I can pick up the phone and say “Representative!” all I want and nothing will happen.

This is the day I have. Making life extraordinary means sometimes you have to do hard things on days when you’d rather not.

Seizing the day doesn’t mean you run a marathon while you’re sick. It doesn’t mean you go out and thwart evil, cure cancer, and make everyone’s life better at work. It means you take your limitations into account, do your best, and take care of yourself. It means you do some things you’d rather not do (stretching this morning was a bitch). You play your hand to the best of your ability.

You write a blog post mixing a bunch of metaphors.

It means you go to bed secure in the knowledge that you did your best.

I have to go into the office today. I might not last the entire day. If so, that’s okay. I’ll have done my best. For me, today, that would be seizing the day.

You never know how the day goes, but you’re not powerless

I felt good enough to go for a run to start the day. The run tapered off before I wanted it to. Now, I feel less-than-spectacular. Little lingering pains hurt a lot. And I’m much colder than I should be.

In a word, I feel frail.

But it’s a work day, so I have to make an attempt to do what needs to be done. And I might feel a better once I get some coffee in me and the day goes on. It could wind up being a good day.

In other words, you never know.

Most days, life goes on more or less as we expect it to. Nothing earth-shattering happens. But there’s no guarantee of that. Unexpected things happen–good and bad. The most you can do is prepare yourself, roll the dice, and move forward.

And remember that you’ve been through hard things. It’s not your first rodeo. If things go south, you’ve been here before. You know how to handle a hard day. If they turn out better than expected, that’s all bonus.

Either way, though you don’t know what’ll happen, there’s no need to be afraid. You have the tools and deal with what comes up. You get to make the choice how it affects you. Even if it’s hurtful and leaves a mark, you’ve been through that, too.

Though you never know, you have the power to decide how to react.