Journal Entry #7: You should go and love yourself
This is the seventh in a series of ruminations of who/what/where/why I currently am. You can find part one here, but these entries read like standalone essays, so there’s no need to start from the beginning.
A slight addendum to “Journal Entry #6: Man’s refamiliarization with the product of his labour”: I was on a separate Wikipedia rabbit hole the other day, and I guess what I really am doing in Journal Entry #6 is ascending from a labourer mindset to that of the petite bourgeoisie. This is not some “millionaire grindset win”, but really just a loss of class consciousness as I still have no capital. If we’re not overthrowing capitalism though, I’ll take the small gains as I can get them.
No this isn’t a breakup post, although the focus on self-care after someone ends a romantic relationship is remarkable. I’m positive part of the social media posting is an attempt to get back at an ex and demonstrate to the world that the recently single individual is doing well, but there is certainly a genuine part as well. People who know me know that I eschew the New Age and alternative philosophy to which self-love belongs; I’m also surprised I’m writing this. This journal entry is a combination of two essays that I had planned, both of which are thought exercises of sorts I use when I’m feeling a bit down, but neither of which were substantial enough for a standalone piece.
A few summers ago, I attended the Calgary Stampede. It’s billed as one of the world’s largest rodeos, but for those who haven’t attended, think of it as your average summer fair with less ethnic diversity and more hooved animals. My first fair since I could legally drink, I realized all the fun was wandering around in a drunken stupor, holding it together just enough to avoid upsetting the children, who were somehow having fun without any sort of mind-altering substance.
Aside from the the mechanical bull and the chuckwagon races, the place I spent the most time was likely watching one of the midway games, the two-minute hang. In this challenge, the participant must simply grip onto a free-spinning bar for two minutes without falling: it costs ten dollars to play, and a successful challenger wins a hundred dollars. My friend and I hung around for the better part of an hour, watching a continuous stream of victims. Not one succeeded. Despite our jokes that the odds were clearly in our favour now, we knew well enough that our chances were slim to none.
The challenge is deceptively simple because I have no doubt that I could hang off a horizontal bar for two minutes, as many others. But a bar that’s thicker than expected, and is free-spinning so success relies more heavily on grip strength is much harder. Another way to rationalize it is to think about the carnie’s gains. Discounting the cost of renting the space, the operator has to come out ahead. That means at most, one in eleven people could be successful. Factor in opportunity cost, variance in participants, and material fees, the number is looking closer to one in twenty or thirty.
Even if a challenger were to follow this line of reasoning, their testosterone still could cloud their line of logic. Perhaps they have really good lifts. Perhaps they’re strong rock climbers. Perhaps they only work upper body and have decided that it’s their day to shine. They are easily within the top decile of humans if not percentile. But they have neglected to consider that all participants have arrived at a similar conclusion after a similar line of reasoning. It’s not the top five percent of fairgoers, but it’s the top five percent of fairgoers who think they could win the challenge. Perhaps that’s a lower bar at the Stampede than at the Ex.
I know this is nothing new. It’s a platitude in help circles for burnout victims and overachievers that there will always be another ladder, always another pyramid. It’s called selection bias. However, it took this specific example to illuminate it for me. Ambition isn’t my calling card, and sometimes the search for motivation can be a little daunting, but there are certainly times when I feel inadequate. Why do I make so little money compared to her? Why is he better at running than me? How is she so much more literate than I? Why does everyone seem to be better than me?
Sometimes this spurs me to look for a new job, to go for a run, to pick up a book. Sometimes, this sends me down a spiral of despair, ruining my mood for no good reason. When I identify the latter happening, I inhale and remind myself that I’m not in the bottom quartile, I’m in the bottom of the top quartile. Perhaps I’m in the bottom of the top decile. Of this particular trait. I’m comparing earnings to top-earning, career motivated peers. I’m comparing running to others who are running during the winter. I’m comparing literacy to English majors. Sometimes, I can be content with not being able to hang onto the pole for two minutes, just knowing that I’m strong and healthy enough.
My other mental palate cleanser is to think about myself just before highschool graduation, at the verge of young adulthood. What would highschool Chris think if I were to go back and talk to him now? I certainly had dreams when I was in highschool: ambiguous fame, fortune, and happiness. I had wanted to have property around the world, to live in at my leisure. I had wanted to be wealth beyond measure. I wanted my life to be like a movie, to have parties like in the movies, to have friends like in the movies, to go places like in the movies.
If I told him I lived in downtown Toronto, would he be wowed? Likely not, but also not disappointed. If I told him that I make less than an average teacher in Canada, would he be proud? Likely not, and perhaps slightly disappointed. But would he be awed with the memories I made, the stories I can tell? Would he appreciate the value and strength of the friendships he currently has, and impressed that I held onto them? Would he recognize the strength of relationship to my family and the importance of my growth?
I honestly don’t know. That’s why I matured, and highschool Chris is referred to as such; he doesn’t know what is really important to me now. But on some level, I think he would be happy for me as well. He would be glad that in the future, he makes happy memories with friends and family, that he goes to Paris for exchange, and that he still reads. He would be stunned to learn to he can now read and write Chinese, works in French from time to time, and still has big dreams.
Hence I relax myself on both fronts: all that I’m worried about now might become inconsequential later on, and I have done many things that would have impressed highschool Chris. He would look forward to the past eight years of my life, thinking that his best years were still ahead of him. And that is good enough for me.
So whenever I catch myself comparing myself to my peers and my dreams, trending downwards, I catch myself. Checking progress is one thing, but unproductive negative feelings are another. I stop and remember that I need to stop comparing myself to other’s strengths, and highschool Chris would be still mostly impressed with my life. It’s okay to love yourself.
