Pounds, that is. That is exactly how much I way as I write this. Now, I am 6’ 6” tall. WOW, was that a justification? So, I am a tall fat guy. This story is not one with an ending, as of yet. It barely has a beginning. It is about discipline, and I have none, especially when it comes to two major areas of my life: my weight, and my music.
I was born with a natural physicality. I was not an elite athlete. I was not fast, or overly strong. I couldn’t do pull-ups. But I could run medium distances without much effort. I could start running, then stop at some point 6-8 miles later and go on with my day as if nothing happened. I did it when I chose, or didn’t. It was something I could do but didn’t do it all the time (like being double jointed). I never followed this ability. I never became disciplined in the art of running.
I was also born with an insane, obsessive love for music. At 14, I began playing guitar. As soon as I had a few chords under my belt, I began writing my first songs. It was then that I found I had an ability to write songs. My passion for music is the passion of writing. I can play guitar, bass, piano, and sing. I have taught myself all of these; but like the running, never became disciplined about playing or writing. I write or play when I want, or not. I don’t practice scales. I don’t work on technique. I don’t do 100 takes to get a guitar line just right. When it becomes uncomfortable, I stop.
Both of these examples grow out of a lack of discipline. This is something I never learned to do growing up. School was goal driven: if I took so many units and took these sets of classes, I was given a degree. That is not discipline, at least not self-discipline. There was a semi-dictated trajectory of events, of which, if I availed myself and had decent grades, gave me a diploma. I can follow a guideline. When I have to set the course to better or change myself, I am out!
So, here I am: 40, a decent songwriter that does not practice, a 319-pound man that smokes and does not exercise. It is for these reasons that I beat myself up daily. They are the hardest things for me to conquer. And they are the things that, as I sit here writing, I have no clue how to begin overcoming. They make me hate myself for not living up to my potential.
The truth is: I don’t know where to begin. There are so many elements that, together, would solidify my scattered mind.