Why hello there, beloved citizens of the read.cash community. Great to be able to connect with you all once again on this chilly, overcast Thursday afternoon. I hope you're all doing well, I hope you're all working towards your dreams, I hope the world is still revealing all its beauty and mystery to you in a never-ending stream of bliss and amazement, et cetera et cetera. End obligatory greeting, intro, and spiritual well-wishing.
So... what to write about today?
Something that's been on my mind a lot lately is this idea of momentum. Momentum, specifically, with regard to human striving and the day-in, day-out grind that's required of us when we want to improve or better ourselves in some way. See, I'm all about that stuff. For around the past year and a half (pretty close in time to when the pandemic started, if that gives you any idea of the mental anguish that acted as the impetus for this whole project) I have been pushing myself relentlessly to improve, to become a better version of myself, to realize my potential--all that.
It started, as most journeys of self-improvement do, with physical exercise. Running, specifically. 3 or 4 times a week I would begrudgingly pull myself out of bed, strap on my newly bought running shoes, and walk out my front door to limp and trot, wheeze and gasp myself around the block for the next 30 minutes or so. It was, as you might imagine, the definition of a struggle at the beginning. Nothing -- and I mean nothing -- about the process was pleasurable in the slightest, save maybe for when the "run" (more like walk-jog) was over and I could finally make my way home to collapse on the floor and savor the feeling of AC.
But this "hell stage" didn't last. In fact, it really didn't last for long at all. 2 weeks, maybe 3, but sure enough right around that 3-4 week mark I began noticing a distinct shift in the way I was experiencing these bouts of physical exercise. See, suddenly it was enjoyable. Yes, running became positively enjoyable for me. All the sensations that had just recently been the pinnacle of discomfort and pain--the racing heart rate, the belabored gasping for oxygen, the burning thighs and calves--were now becoming things that...felt good?
How can one even explain this? What sort of black magic, alchemical ritual holds the paradoxical power of transforming pain into pleasure? The answer, at least in part, became clear to me over the next few weeks and months of my journey: momentum.
Momentum, to me, is the state one experiences when they overcome some sort of resistance. It's like weight training. You grind and push and pull that heavy iron around for a few days a week, and before you know it you're able to manipulate a much heavier weight than the one you started with. It's progress. It's the growth of power. It's a muscle (whether in the body or mind or spirit) that becomes stronger and stronger, more and more capable. So... what? This is all well and good, you might be saying to yourself, but what are you really trying to say, Mr. Alexander? What's the big revelation here?
Well, one, I'm not sure. This is a freewriting session, and I'm certainly not going to feel bad about a lack of organization and coherence in this piece. But, that being said, I did begin writing this article with a certain question in mind: does this personal understanding of momentum translate into other difficult tasks? I've more than confirmed for myself its existence in the physical domain, running and weightlifting and what have you, but is this something universally applicable? Is this just how humans experience difficult tasks, challenging skills?
I'm thinking specifically about writing. My passion, my aspiration, the dream I've held for perhaps the longest. It's what I want to do with my life, where I want to make an impact in this world, all I need, but somehow, in all my 20-something years of life, I've never been able to commit to a sort of momentum-driven routine like I have been with tasks like exercise and self-care. Why? What's the difference? Where's the missing link?
I can't say for sure, really. That's why I'm writing this, obviously. But I have to find out. I need, one way or another, clarity on this most soul-involved of subjects. And that is why I started a new goal earlier this week of writing daily. If writing, like the calf or the bicep, is a muscle, then surely this daily workout will make it stronger and more able, and thus make the experience more enjoyable on a consistent basis. I don't know. It intuitively makes sense, but only one thing in this world can give me a final answer on the matter: just doing it. So I am. And I'm going to be.
So wish me luck. Lord knows I need it.