So I got to thinking the other day about what a strange thing willpower is. It’s not logical you know? I find it bizarre that sometimes I have to dig really deep to say no, and other times I’m able to fire the word out faster than a bullet without giving it a second thought. Why do you think that happens..? To all intents and purposes, it’s the same head making the decisions…the asshole is in permanent residence so him trying to chuck a spanner in the works is par for the course. And yet, some days are still harder than others.
Did I ever tell you I used to be a smoker..? It seems like a lifetime ago – in common with lots of reformed smokers I can’t bear to be anywhere near a lit cigarette now and it feels so alien to think I used to have a twenty a day habit. It was well ingrained too – I started having a sneaky ciggie or two in my early teens and by the time I reached adulthood it was a pretty deep seated habit. So it’s ten years since I quit, and do you want to know how much willpower that took..? None. None at all.
I know, it makes no sense to me either. I read Allan Carr’s Easy Way to Stop Smoking in one sitting, cover to cover in one day, smoked my last cigarette when the book told me to, and I’ve never smoked another. I never had a single craving, after more than twenty five years of smoking. Picture my face when I realised he’d written a book on losing weight, I was beyond excited…I pretty much broke the land speed record to get to the bookshop and hand over my cash. Read the whole book in one sitting and…nothing. Read it again, just to make sure…still nothing. Bloody thing had no impact on me whatsoever. I was gutted.
So it seems that there isn’t any kind of formula which cracks the willpower code every time. I mean I’m doing ok – better than ok, I’m doing great – now. But it’d be nice to be able to have some sort of guarantee, you know? Some certainty, that I’ll shimmy into Skinny town this time next year having had no curve balls come hurtling out of left field to knock me out of the sweet spot…no struggles to get back in. Some kind of formula to apply like a sunscreen to keep me protected from the asshole and other as yet unidentified foes would be amazing. But I get it – life doesn’t work like that, right?
And you know what else..? I’m kind of glad it doesn’t. I feel like I’m really having to work at this. I’m putting in the hard yards. Examining every thought, every feeling…picking at loose threads and sewing them down tight in the hope that if I touch wood and whistle they won’t unravel ever again. When I look back at the way I quit smoking, it feels too easy. I mean don’t get me wrong, I could never go back to the evil weed but equally I don’t feel any sense of pride or achievement for managing to quit. By some miracle, it happened but I don’t feel like I can take the credit.
This, on the other hand…when I get to Skinny town I want to wear every bruise that the asshole leaves behind like a badge of honour. I want to be able to run my fingers across every scar, from every hard-won battle. And that sense of achievement..? I want that too. I don’t think I can carry the scars or the bruises unless I’ve earned them.
That’s what’ll help me cash in my chips and stay there permanently. Let’s carry on doing the work 🙂
