Tag: health

Amateur Hour: Why You Don’t Need to be the Best at Everything

I’m a Pisces through and through. Not like I necessarily believe the position of a bunch of gas balls a bazillion miles away had anything to do with my personality, but I feel like the Pisces label fits me eerily well nonetheless. Over-emotional artsy-fartsy weirdo” is too many syllables anyways.

The quintessential Pisces.

Another characteristic that comes with the territory is the love of all things aquatic. We Pisces love water — being in it, or even just being near it, brings us a kind of primal joy. We’re fish, after all. It’s our natural habitat, and having grown up in Michigan by a river, it makes me feel at home.

With all this in mind, you’d think I’d be a natural swimmer, right?

This morning, I decided I’d swim some laps in lieu of my normal morning workout. Typically I go to the gym at like, 5 in the morning, when no one but the craziest fitness fiends are there. The pool’s usually pretty dead at that hour.

Usually.

I get there and there’s two other people — a man who looks slightly older than me and a woman who looks slightly younger than me. And they clearly know what they’re doing. The woman even has the full swim cap and goggles look going on, and they’re both breaststroking from one side of the pool to the other at lightning speeds. Me, I dip my toe in and start my meager doggypaddle to the other side, while Michael Phelps and his little sister swim literal circles around me.

This is me pretending I know what I’m doing.

At first, I was a bit self-conscious. Clearly I had no idea what I was doing. I never learned to properly swim. In fact, I got kicked out of swim lessons as a child, probably for my then-very-undiagnosed ADHD symptoms. I mean, I got kicked out of ballet, tap, and gymnastics for the same reason. (One-on-one guitar lessons were the one thing I couldn’t get kicked out of, but that’s a whole other story.) But all I know about swimming, I learned from jumping into the pool at my childhood home and splashing around with no motive or goal in mind, except to have fun.

There’s nothing wrong with striving to be the very best at stuff, but I feel like we devalue the idea of doing something just because you like it. We live in a world that screams at us to monetize everything, to use our free time to hustle and find hobbies that will move us ahead in the world. I’d normally agree with that sentiment, at least somewhat. It’s helpful to find something you’re good at and to be able to make a little extra cash with it. But we forget that life’s about more than just making money and flaunting skills. Sometimes, you simply gotta jump in the water and do what your body tells you to do, even if the form or technique isn’t perfect.

The word “amateur” is often used as a derogatory term for “person who sucks at a thing.” No one wants to be an amateur, right? But the thing is, it’s not supposed to be an insult. The opposite of amateur is professional, or a person who does something as a profession. I’m a professional musician, for example. I use my skills as a vocalist and guitarist and make (an abysmal amount of) money. When I create music, I’m thinking in terms of how I can market this new single, or how I can fit this new song into our set list, or worrying about a plethora of other things that could affect the trajectory of my career.

When I paint, though, I paint through the eyes of an amateur. Sure, I know the basics of mixing colors and mediums and paint thinner, but I’m not exactly the next Picasso or Dali. And I’m fine with that, because I’m not painting professionally. I’m painting because the act of painting relaxes me. I’m painting because I get a sense of joy from it. I’m painting because, well, I just love to do it. That’s where the word “amateur” comes from. It’s French for “one who loves.” I’m an amateur painter because I don’t do it for compensation or recognition. Rather, I paint because I love it!

I have to love it, because I’m obviously not making any money with this.

That’s what I kept in mind as I swam my measly five laps this morning. I’m not training for the Olympics. To be honest, I don’t work out at all for any good reason. I just love the act of working out. I love the rush of endorphins, and the way it makes my body feel, and that moment of solitude I get doing cardio in the morning before work. I’m not an athlete. I’m an amateur. And there’s nothing wrong with that.

So the next time you feel discouraged because you suck at sometime, take a moment to evaluate why you’re doing it. Are you doing it because you want the fame and fortune? We live in this capitalistic society that teaches us there’s no value in something unless we’re using it to make money. But embracing being an amateur is an act of defiance against this system of belief. It’s punk as hell.

Kurt would approve of this message.

As kids, we sing, dance, paint, run, and swim without worrying what people think of us. These things come naturally to us as human beings, and we only stop because society says we’ll never be good enough at them. I challenge you to pick up that paintbrush or jump into the water. Whatever it was you used to love doing, whatever it was you stopped doing because you sucked at it, try your hand at it again. Don’t compare yourself to the professionals. You might never make money doing it, but that’s okay. Just do it because you love it.

What I’m Leaving Behind in My Twenties

Well, today’s the day. I made it to thirty, an age I never imagined being as a kid. Mind you, I imagined being twenty-something and hot, and seventy-something and adorable, but thirty is such a weird in-between age. Too old to be cute in a childlike way, yet too young to be cute in a little old lady way. Thirty isn’t exactly an age you fantasize about being. When you think thirty, you think adult responsibilities and bills and oh God my biological clock is ticking and I still don’t have kids yet and holy shit is that a gray hair?!

…I say as if I’m not going to do something like this when I go gray.

But I’m kind of excited to turn thirty, to be honest. I’ve made my peace with getting older (mostly) and realized there are a lot of aspects of being young I’m ready to leave behind. Like I’ve said before, your twenties are kind of your free trial run of adulthood, your first playthrough on easy mode, where people still give you plenty of grace if you eff it up at first. But at thirty, the training wheels come off. You become a full-fledged person, and while that can be scary, it comes with some perks.

Here’s what I’m ready to leave in my twenties.

1. Irresponsibility

My twenties were marked by frivolous spending. Like, I impulse-bought a boat (which my first boyfriend hilariously predicted I would do someday). And I had to impulse-leave that boat by a dumpster with a “free – take me!” sign taped to it when we moved away from the lake. I rode that boat one magical time with my girlfriend when she came to visit—and never, ever again. That one boat ride basically costed me $500.

There were plenty of other things I impulse bought because it looked so cool in the Instagram advertisement. Like the two exercise machines I barely touched before realizing I can’t work out unless I’m at a gym with no distractions. If there is a couch available to nap on, lizard brain always picks couch. And don’t even get me started on clothes and makeup.

Cody, my financial advisor, gave me a stern talking to earlier. See, when we first starting working with him, he asked me and my wife our “whys” — why do we want to get out of debt and build our savings? My reason was simple. I wanted to start a family someday.

Of course, Cody took one look at my spending habits recently and said something that shook me.

“Do you actually want to start a family? Because you’re spending like your don’t actually want to.”

And it hit me. I haven’t been spending with the future in mind. Every time I buy some bullshit, I’m taking away from my future daughter’s college fund. Every Tim Horton’s donut I buy could have gone toward a new dance uniform for her instead. Or I could have used the money to help start my private music therapy practice, or buy a cute home on a big plot of land. I’m not a huge fan of my old pastor’s theology, but I will admit he had some good adages I still abide by to this day. One thing he’d always say was “What you spend your money on shows what you really care about.” And I think there’s a lot of truth to that. I don’t spend like I love my future daughter. I spend like I love material things more than her.

So I think this kind of frivolous spending is best left in my twenties.

2. Sloppiness

I have to admit, I never saw the point of making my bed. Like, you’re just going to get it all messed up again the next time you sleep, right? And still, nothing feels better than pulling down the sheets of a freshly made bed in preparation for a long night of slumber.

Imagine if we had the attitude I had about making my bed about everything. What if I never brushed my teeth because they’re just going to get gross again next time I eat something? My teeth would end up rotting out of my face! Brushing your teeth is an act of self-care, and so is keeping house.

A book I read recently, How to Keep House While Drowning by KC Davis, invited the reader to reframe daily chores as self-care tasks, rather than a duty that needs to be fulfilled for the sake of being fulfilled. We do these things because we deserve to have a clean, inviting home. We owe it to ourselves.

I recently got into the habit of putting away clothes after I launder them. It sounds like such a little thing to be proud of, but I am. I love walking into my bedroom and being able to make it to my bed without tripping over a pile of leggings. I love how it looks, being able to see the floor again. I feel at home in my home. What a freakin’ concept.

Sometimes, the change is as easy as making sure you have the right tools to clean with. I stocked up on some all-natural cleaners that smell nice and come in pretty bottles, and weirdly enough, that makes me want to do more around the house. It’s all about tricking lizard brain into doing what I want it to do, and turns out lizard brain likes shiny things that smell good.

This guy has an unsettling amount of influence over me.

In your twenties, everyone sucks, so you don’t go to other people’s houses expecting things to be perfectly in place and meticulously cleaned. But once you turn thirty, there’s this expectation that you’ll stop being a goblin and start keeping your home like a person. When I was younger, I’d probably say “Well, expectations are stupid anyways” and go back to living in squalor. But cleaning really is an act of self-care. It’s deciding you’re worthy of having a clean, habitable environment that reflects who you are, and gifting that to yourself.

3. Unhealthy Habits

I wish I remembered most of my twenties, but I spent a good deal of it drunk. Of course.

I didn’t have a drink until I was twenty, and I barely drank until I was legal, but after my 21st birthday, all hell broke loose. With the exception of the time I was briefly married to a very conservative, very Christian guy who’d never touched alcohol in his life, I spent the majority of my twenties with a drink in hand. Life was just hopping from one excuse to get trashed to the next.

I wasted a lot of time being wasted. I thought being intoxicated helped me be more creative, but it actually stifled me. I wasn’t writing or doing much of anything productive while drinking. I’d go to shows my own band was playing and get blackout drunk, looking like a fool at a time when I should have maintained a sense of professionalism.

As of writing, I’ve been sober about a year. Wild, I know. See, I’ve found healthier alternatives to alcohol to fill the hole in my heart. Like, did you know there are companies that make nonalcoholic beer? It tastes exactly the same! And I can be a snob about it — “Oh, just give me the Heineken 0.0”

“I try not to poison my body with that alcoholic shit, thanks.”

Snobbery is a kind of underrated motivator, and one of the reasons behind another life change I want to take into the next phase of my existence. I’ve started working out every weekday morning, no exceptions. This is partially because I have to take my wife to her gym job at the buttcrack of dawn, but it’s a good excuse to get moving. I love being one of those motivational assholes who are like “Ah yes, I get up at 5 am every day to do 45 minutes of cardio before work. It keeps me grounded.”

I’ll admit there are some areas of my life I have yet to earn bragging rights for. Like, my eating habits are still abysmal. But that’s the thing about progress. If you don’t have something you’re constantly working toward, you might as well be on your deathbed. Constantly aiming toward new highs is what keeps you young. And as hard as it is to say goodbye to young adulthood, I know it’s not the end of the journey. I have a good 30 more years at least — and that’s a conservative estimate. If I have my way, I’ll be around twice as long as that.

But even if I do make it to 90, as long as I still have dreams and ambitions and goals, I’ll never truly be “grown up.”