Giving Up Giving Up

There are a number of things I do—or keep doing—out of fear that if I stopped doing them, I’d stop for good.

One, of course, is writing a piece day for 327 days (I’m up to 86 days straight so far). I’m pretty sure if I skip a day and am forced to start all over again, I’ll give up—not merely from the daunting nature of being back at day 1, but also because I won’t be able to not notice how absurd a task I’ve set for myself.

Another is commuting regularly to school by bicycle. I seem to be getting slower by the day. This morning, I was passed by a middle-aged guy on a mountain bike with knobby tires and flat bars. (I did draft him for a while; my ego can only take so much.) If it weren’t that the bus has gotten completely unreliable (the last two times I’ve ridden it, it’s been over 15 minutes late), I might take to using my U-Pass instead of my pedals all the time.

Yoga, too. On Monday and Tuesday of this week, I couldn’t drag myself out of the warm bed to brave the cold trip to the Ashtanga Yoga School. I did my usual abbreviated home practice and it was only the fear that if I didn’t get there today I might never go again that got me to the studio.

So, I can’t really tell if my stick-to-itiveness in these cases is to be commended; one could easily conclude that if it’s only habit that’s making me continue, then I ought to relent. On the other hand, I don’t want to throw in the towel too easily, especially if giving up would mean giving up something good for good.

I’ve wondered (even semi-publicly) what my life might be like had I not given up other pursuits; for now, then, I’ll see what happens if I give up giving up.