I don't remember how long I was in Cub Scouts. Not long. Same with hockey lessons. Not long at all. A few early freezing mornings, with torture devices strapped to my aching feet, decked out in heavy rigid gear. It was way more fun to collect hockey cards than to skate back and forth, feet splayed apart, never a game in sight. Just practice. And more practice.
Soccer was at least outside in nice weather for the most part and we played games right away. There wasn't this learning curve and it didn't require accessories that weighed a ton. I could run around all day. Getting a stinging soccer ball to the face made me call it quits. No thanks, the orange wedges were the best part of it anyway. Greek school didn't fare too well either. Whatever Mimi and Anna and the chicken were up to in the grammar book, they weren't getting me to stay after school for more school. Grade two and I was out of there.
My mom admits she should have been stricter, not letting me bail out of every activity. In hindsight, which is crystal clear, I wish my folks new about track and field or gymnastics or something where I could just cavort around. Alas, no such luck. I probably would have quit those activities anyway. I'm still not too good with activities. I've taken boxing lessons, tai chi, yoga, all for a semesters worth at most and I loved all of it. Then pop!, never again. Non committal, I guess. Or flighty. Couldn't care less…no, not that. I care. I even rationalize how this activity, if seen through, will just pull me up to the next level of awesome. Well, no.
Probably way too much pressure put on these poor little pastimes. Poor little yoga class just wanted to limber me up a little, but no, I had to go and convince myself that this is activity was exactly what would pull it all together for me, the chips lining up just so, ease of mobility, deepened empathy, my taxes filed on time and a diet devoid of gummy candy and gas station beef jerky. Radiant health and cash money. One thing that I took away from the Church Of The SubGenius, an organization I kept at arms length, was the concept of the ShoDurPerSav, the short duration personal saviour. This is what Bruce Lee is when you get high and watch all his movies in a row. Or when Fly By Night by Rush is the best album in the world…for today. You move on, the Church knows that and so personal saviours come ready for our short attention spans.
My enthusiasm would overflow for something for a week and then just unceremoniously trail off into limbo. I would talk up a storm about how amazing such-and-such is, how a daily spoonful of clarified butter is the cat's meow. How with just fifteen minutes a day meditation I was starting to see auras. A month later and I'm bumming cigarettes again or have rediscovered Swiss Rolls.
I'm waiting for the thing that will catch. The thing that isn't sugar or caffeine, that isn't just reading or surfing the net. I'm adept at those things, a veritable master. I'm waiting for the good thing to come and build its nest in my nervous system. Seems I may wait a long time. I may just have to see good habits as lovers in every port. When the stars align just so we have a magical love affair and when it's over we move on, nary a harsh word spoken.
That's my special system.
Soccer was at least outside in nice weather for the most part and we played games right away. There wasn't this learning curve and it didn't require accessories that weighed a ton. I could run around all day. Getting a stinging soccer ball to the face made me call it quits. No thanks, the orange wedges were the best part of it anyway. Greek school didn't fare too well either. Whatever Mimi and Anna and the chicken were up to in the grammar book, they weren't getting me to stay after school for more school. Grade two and I was out of there.
My mom admits she should have been stricter, not letting me bail out of every activity. In hindsight, which is crystal clear, I wish my folks new about track and field or gymnastics or something where I could just cavort around. Alas, no such luck. I probably would have quit those activities anyway. I'm still not too good with activities. I've taken boxing lessons, tai chi, yoga, all for a semesters worth at most and I loved all of it. Then pop!, never again. Non committal, I guess. Or flighty. Couldn't care less…no, not that. I care. I even rationalize how this activity, if seen through, will just pull me up to the next level of awesome. Well, no.
Probably way too much pressure put on these poor little pastimes. Poor little yoga class just wanted to limber me up a little, but no, I had to go and convince myself that this is activity was exactly what would pull it all together for me, the chips lining up just so, ease of mobility, deepened empathy, my taxes filed on time and a diet devoid of gummy candy and gas station beef jerky. Radiant health and cash money. One thing that I took away from the Church Of The SubGenius, an organization I kept at arms length, was the concept of the ShoDurPerSav, the short duration personal saviour. This is what Bruce Lee is when you get high and watch all his movies in a row. Or when Fly By Night by Rush is the best album in the world…for today. You move on, the Church knows that and so personal saviours come ready for our short attention spans.
My enthusiasm would overflow for something for a week and then just unceremoniously trail off into limbo. I would talk up a storm about how amazing such-and-such is, how a daily spoonful of clarified butter is the cat's meow. How with just fifteen minutes a day meditation I was starting to see auras. A month later and I'm bumming cigarettes again or have rediscovered Swiss Rolls.
I'm waiting for the thing that will catch. The thing that isn't sugar or caffeine, that isn't just reading or surfing the net. I'm adept at those things, a veritable master. I'm waiting for the good thing to come and build its nest in my nervous system. Seems I may wait a long time. I may just have to see good habits as lovers in every port. When the stars align just so we have a magical love affair and when it's over we move on, nary a harsh word spoken.
That's my special system.
