Moderation May Be The Key, But Then There Are Cheeseburgers (And Shoes)
This is a continuation of yesterday’s post.
Some people in my house operate on a crazier level than others. SOME people go hard, hard, hard, doing whatever it is they do, until they burn out and crash.
For example, my oldest son – he is the doer of all things. He wants to change the world. He has no time for lazing about. He does not slack. He refuses to be mediocre. He always strives for perfection. With him, it’s always go, go, go, push, push, push…to the end…until his goal has been reached…no matter how long or how arduous the process…or until he drops from exhaustion. And that’s OK. We need people like him in the world. I don’t know that the pyramids would’ve been built otherwise.
Some of us, on the other hand, operate at a slightly more temperate pace. SOME of us just try to chug along, doing little bits of good every day. That’s me.
So when my son says, “Hey, you need to push a little harder during your workouts,” or, “Hey, you shouldn’t be eating that piece of chocolate cake, it’s bad for you,” I reply, “OK, which one of us had to take a full week off from working out because they couldn’t move their body anymore? And which one of us had a Double Big Mac, a large fries, two Junior Chickens, AND a cheeseburger for supper the other night?” That actually happened. And then he ate an entire bag of cookies.
Afterward, he said, “I feel like crap.”
“No shit.” I shrugged. “Maybe you need to learn to do things in moderation.” I’m not sure that’s ever going to happen. It’s just not in his nature.
And yeah, I know the story of the tortoise and the hare, but I still think that both personality-types end up around the same place, it’s just that the tortoise doesn’t crack and have a nervous breakdown quite so often. And he probably doesn’t routinely binge-eat the entire McDonald’s menu either.
Just for the record, I make myself consume some kind of treat every single day. It’s tough sometimes – like I don’t always WANT that piece of smooth, delicious chocolate melting blissfully on my tongue – but I stuff it down my throat anyway. It keeps me from going to Dairy Queen, buying an ice cream cake, driving home like a bat out of hell, hiding in my bedroom, and inhaling the entire thing without telling a G.D. soul. I almost did that once, but then I didn’t. See, my ticker is constantly working.
Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have some online shopping to do. One can never have too many pairs of shoes.
Note to my husband: Just kidding, dear. I’m off to vacuum and mop the entire house.