To err is human.
That’s what we say, anyway. In practice, we can’t accept our own flaws. We desire more. We want to be better than we are, and anything less isn’t good enough. We have to progress. We have to be better, harder, faster, stronger than we were last week. And just because for the past 157 weeks we haven’t made much progress, this week is going to be different.
By nature, we humans fuck up all the time. And, also by nature, we blame ourselves. That’s pretty stupid. Imagine a dog who licks it’s own ass, except instead of taking a nap afterwards he walks around in circles for six hours worrying about how he’s going to pay his taxes. Pretty fucking stupid, right?
Well, it’s the same for us. We lick our own metaphorical assholes over and over, yet somehow we can’t seem to just enjoy the sweet sweet sphincter ride we’ve built for ourselves.
Diet goals. For the past five or so years, I’ve been trying to lose the same damn 20-30 pounds. I used to be fat as fuck, and I’m not any more. But I want to be fit. I want to have abs and pecs that can make women swoon from thirty yards. That way they’ll match the effects from my beautiful face. Anyway, narcissism aside, I fucking beat myself up over this shit constantly. Generally I’m as laid back as they come, but when it comes to trying to control my diet I just can’t seem to get over the fact that ultimately it’s out of my hands.
Sometimes things aren’t 100% in our control. And sometimes, after we lick our own asshole, we have to savor the flavor instead of trying to pretend we’re something we’re not.
Not to say we shouldn’t try to improve ourselves. Of course, we have to try. We have to do things to improve ourselves. Like, I’m not recommending we all just sit around jerking each-other off all day. But when we fail, when we fall short of what we imagined ourselves accomplishing, we have to take a step back and appreciate what we do have, what we’ve already accomplished, and the people we have around us to share it with.
Sometimes the diet doesn’t fucking work out. Sometimes you just can’t hit the gym. Sometimes it’s fucking cold and you just want to stay in bed all day long. And that’s fucking fine. Free will isn’t real (which you’ll remember if you’ve been following along), so it’s the epitome of foolishness to flagellate ourselves over things we can’t control.
All this in the name of progress. We alienate ourselves from people we care about. We focus on progress to the detriment of everything else in our lives, the things that really matter when it comes down to it. And when we’re dying, we’ll remember the things we’ve left behind. We’ll realize, then, that the things we beat ourselves up over were just passing fantasies. All in our heads, and none of it mattered. All that time we could have spent giving love to the people who deserve it, we spent chasing the fucking dragon. Our addiction was to progress.
Shit happens. Make the best of it, and move the fuck on.
And cut yourself a break for Godsakes. It’s not your fault.