Diligence, Not Self-Deprecation

Hello world!

I had an awesomely relaxing break from school last week and started my spring semester fully rested yesterday.  Yesterday, you may ask?  Yup.  We still use that ancient Ivy calendar, even though all of the other Ivy schools have switched to something more reasonable than having finals in January and starting the spring semester in February.  Oh well.  

In related news, I have 100% class attendance this semester so far!  Yeah, yeah, not so impressive considering I've only had two hours of class so far.  But let's put it this way: my class attendance was abysmal last semester.  I tend to get in this rut where I miss one or two lectures then feel bad about it.  Now here's the kicker: I feel bad about not attending class, so I end up missing more class to avoid the feeling of guilt.  Now there's some messed up logic.  

I had a similar philosophy when drinking, which I've come to find is pretty common for alcoholics: I would feel terrible guilt about throwing away my life for alcohol, and shame for what I was doing while drunk.  So what would I do?  Drink more, obviously, to help swallow my feelings.  Repeat.  How agonizing!

(Ironically, I thought that my life would be soooo boring if I got sober.  What a ridiculous idea, considering my life was pure monotony of misery.)

OK, I got off track from what I was planning to write.

I have been working diligently on trying to incorporate reasonable goals into my life.  It finally dawned on me that I cannot survive with an all-or-nothing mentality.  If I make a harshly specific goal for myself (for example, exercising a minimum of three times a week, or attending every class, or making seven meetings a week, etc.), I set myself up for what I would feel is failure.  As I discussed, I have this habit of dropping a goal completely if I don't meet it perfectly.  I refer to this as getting a "case of the f**k-its".

So how do I face this problem?  

First off, I try to never put a time limit on my goals.  After all, a goal with a time limit is a plan, which is so easy to not get perfect.  For example, I took four years off from my undergrad degree.  I could beat myself up over not having finished yet or having a GPA that would disqualify me for valedictorian.  Or I could make a more logical goal: to get a piece of paper with Latin words and my name on it.  A diploma.  Whenever it happens.

Second, I refuse to make goals that are completely inflexible and begging to not be met.  I could insist on practicing viola a certain number of hours each week, but all that results (for me, at least) is this feeling of guilt when I don't get it exactly right, and this inexplicable terror when I go into my weekly lesson.  Not healthy.  Instead, I plan to practice every week, practice everything I'm working on with my teacher, and never talk myself out of practicing.  After all, I'm not taking lessons to be a professional musician.  It's not life or death.

Speaking of which, I think I'll close with this thought.  Why am I taking viola lessons this year?

Up until I came to college, I took instrumental music very seriously.  I practiced piano constantly and competed in concerto competitions (and won them).  I played principal viola (my second instrument that I picked up "for fun") in every chamber group and orchestra I could get my hands on.  I wasn't bad, either.

Enter drugs and alcohol.  I let go everything about myself that I loved, every activity that brought me pleasure or pride in myself.  That included piano and viola.  And trust me, once you stop playing, the muscle memory leaves, but your ear is still there; you play so much worse, but you can hear all of your mistakes better than ever.

So I started lessons this year for one reason and one reason only: to show myself that I can pick something back up that I lost to alcohol.  And it feels awesome.

Until next time!