Shaping myself.
The consistency of my scrutiny.
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I’ve walked the two-and-a-half kilometres from the front door of my apartment building to my language school about half a dozen times. Though Berlin is struggling through many repeated public transport strikes, I was not forced to walk; my striding through the city has to do with a half-thought-out idea that I am putting into practice after reading The Comfort Crisis by Michael Easter late last year. The book is a well-researched look into what too much comfort does to our minds and bodies, and it details Easter’s personal journey seeking discomfort in an attempt to undo any damage brought about by an overly comfortable lifestyle. One thing Easter mentions, and something that stuck with me for some reason, was a kind of physical training he picked up while writing his book—it’s called rucking. Rucking is essentially speed walking with a really heavy backpack on. Easter reckons it thins you out, builds some muscle and puts less stress on your knees compared to running. Considering the shocking amount of chocolates and bread I ate over the Christmas break, and the struggle I’ve had fitting running into my schedule in Berlin, I thought I’d chuck a bunch of extra weight (in the form of bags of uncooked rice) into the rucksack I take to my German classes and walk there instead of taking public transport. I’m only ten minutes slower than the bus.
Just like every January, I’m considering what shape I’d like to be in and whether that matches the shape I am now. I try to create discomfort, like Easter does, to manipulate my body. I gave sugar-free January a shot, but some extraneous circumstances coupled with waning conviction ultimately led to the early termination of that plan. In fact, I had a cup of rooibos tea with some leftover Christmas cookies as I wrote the outline for this journal; that shows my dedication, I suppose. The walking, at least, is far more consistent; though if I understand rucking, I am missing about seven kilograms of rice before my walks become physically meaningful. I stretch in the mornings, too, for about five minutes. I’m trying to work towards fifteen minutes of active time before I start work at 7 a.m., but it’s slow going stealing time away from my precious beauty sleep. I put a lot of thought into how I ought to shape my body, and what shape it might take. Lean and mean is my goal. Each of these habits, all of which I am constantly monitoring or altering, work towards that one goal. I consciously wake up earlier, consider what I eat, and seek activity, all because I so frequently consider what I look like on the outside.
My girlfriend and I drove to her parents’s apartment late in the evening sometime last week. It was just the two of us in the car. Out of nowhere, something prompted me to ask her if she thought I was a difficult person. I wasn’t hoping for upright refusal; in fact, I was starting to become convinced that I almost certainly was a very difficult person, and I was anticipating an answer that confirmed my growing suspicions. I was met with tremendous kindness, and I am proud to say that she had the courage to tell me an uncomfortable truth: actually, sometimes you can be very difficult. I wasn’t shocked—I think I am of the opinion that we are all quite difficult at times, and still no less beautiful or worthy of love—but it was tough to control my reaction, I had to continually remind myself to respond as an emotionally mature adult rather than lash out as a hurt child would. Problem being: I was hurt. I asked her to explain when or how I could be difficult, asked her how it made her feel, asked her if she’d seen similar behaviour when I was with others. Some details of our conversation will remain private, but I’ll let you in on a couple of things I need to work on. I have to try harder not to interrupt people, especially my loved ones. This, unfortunately, is a bad habit I’ve been trying to kick practically since I learnt to talk. I tend to interrupt my loved ones more often because I feel I know what they’ll say or how they’ll react. This, as I’m sure you can reason, can be infuriating for my friends and family. The same predictive reasoning leads me to inadvertently create boxes that I believe my loved ones fit into, and my words and actions sometimes reflect these boxes rather than considering the complex, capable people with whom I have my closest relationships. Without recognising it, I can become quite patronising because I don’t allow my loved ones room to grow or to be themselves or to mess up. I have made some of them feel stifled and belittled. That was really difficult to digest when my girlfriend highlighted it, gentle though she was.
I like to believe that I am relatively self-aware, but I was shaken by the conversation my girlfriend and I had. Despite my believing that I know my loved ones so well that I can predict their thoughts and feelings, the feelings my girlfriend expressed took me totally by surprise. My girlfriend’s perspective didn’t reveal an unrecognisable version of myself—as she said many times during our conversation and as I confirmed with her later in the week, I don’t treat my family and friends poorly—but it certainly detailed some behaviours worth addressing. I have a full-length mirror between my dirty laundry basket and my wardrobe, and it has become routine to either glimpse or examine my body when I get ready in the morning. I am so frequently confronted with the reality of my body that I know just how I’d like to refine it. I try to be considerate of how I act, certainly, but I feel that the ever-present mirror, ready to examine my body, is far less prominent when concerning my words and attitudes. The emotions that bubbled over in our conversation have since evaporated. I understand (and even agree with) what my girlfriend said. I’m going to pay attention to the things she brought up, but I also want to consider the mirror I used. Just as with physical mirrors, not all reflections are to be trusted. Who I ask to help me reflect on my behaviour is of vital importance. I intend to ask the people I love and trust, the people who treat me with respect and care, what my heart reflection looks like. Just as I shape my body, I want to shape my heart, too, to be kind and considerate and humble, brave and just and truthful, wise and loving. Coming to terms with my body and the way it looks, often in contrast to the way I want it to, has been a lifelong assignment. I think it is of far greater importance to me that I reflect on the attitude of my heart. Uncomfortable as it may be, I want to try and look myself in the mirror a little more.
If you’re interested, you can read more from Michael Easter here.
In the moment that chat was difficult but absolutely worth it to be sensitive to the feelings of someone I love so dearly. If you enjoyed this journal, please send it to someone you love.
Beautiful. Honest. One of your best, and a challenge to us all. Thank you.