The long hard slog of self-improvement.
Nothing comes from nothing said Parmenides/King Lear/Captain von Trapp and fräulein Maria.
Wasn’t Christopher Plummer dreamy?
You’ve seen The Sound of Music—sneer all you want—declare the film mawkish—go ahead, display how intellectual you are by denouncing such trite entertainment. But damn, that scene, when he’s waltzing with Julie Andrews—and they pause, breathless in their overwhelmed state of feelz… Jeeeeeeez. I was transfixed as a child of ten and I remain so as a child of forty-four.
I now understand why I enjoy taking orders via bosun’s whistle. All this has me thinking about how, as kids, we develop. The stuff we fill our pliant brains with can have devasting effects (like having a penchant for authoritative men). What does this have to do with self-improvement? I’ve been looking inward. Life stuff has caused me to assess what the fuck I’m doing with my existence—self-care is the plat du jour!
And that leads me nicely to Duolingo.
I always wanted to learn French. And no, the jolly green owl won’t make me fluent but that’s not the point. The point is I enjoy my daily dose of Français. So the quest for personal betterment is afoot. This is why I faceplanted down a YouTube rabbit hole, one filled with therapists explaining attachment styles and childhood trauma…
Blimey.
Watching therapists online made me examine how I relate to problems and situations. Most children of my cohort (ancient millennials/young Gen Xers/Xennials) will testify to being left to get on with things. Gen X was the latchkey generation. If you were born around this time you learned resilience and self-reliance. This period had a decidedly sink-or-swim vibe. It certainly felt like that for me, especially as I was dealing with a neglectful home life. That sounds like good clean character building, yes? Well, yes, it does, I certainly learned to grow a pair. But on reflection, I reckon there’s a better, less damaging way to teach children how to adult.
Probably the most life-changing bit of self-improvement was when I began taking my health seriously. About three years ago, I started resistance training.
Then I gave up.
What a fucking loser!
Ah, but last summer, I joined a gym—and I actually went! The three people who know me well, know that my doing so is hilarious. I hated exercise, I especially hated the thought of gyming. I was sneery about ‘idiots’ who worked out. What a bunch of bastard meatheads, posing and taking selfies, devoting their life to looking jacked, I thought.
Now I’m one of those meatheads. I have sneaked behind the curtain of the manosphere. I receive daily motivation from anabolically pumped gym bros. I’m learning sports science with Dr Mike Israetel—and I’m loving every minute, despite his talk of girls/bitches and getting laid (or, in his case, NOT getting laid). I only hope I don’t go full-on incel, which would be akin to a turkey looking forward to Thanksgiving.
Bon journée!