The phrase "self-improvement" is, in some ways, redundant. Unless you're an android (and, therefore, should be destroyed), improvement is internal anyway. External factors can make a difference, but the ultimate decision to improve yourself comes from inside.
I've been trying to improve areas of my life that I have, for a long time, felt lacked. Writing, for example: Inspired by the soundtrack of Hamilton, I realized I wasn't writing nearly enough. Coupled with the inspiration of my friend, Pat, I decided that I needed to start writing every day, regardless of the topic. Another area: I wanted to try to develop some cooking skills. I asked a friend, who had been through culinary school, for private lessons, which I've been attending sporadically (schedules are hard to align) since the beginning of summer.
But putting a concerted effort into improving myself has revealed unexpected problems. First of all, the more areas I try to improve, the more gaps I see in my behavior. Yes, I'm learning to cook (and, as a result, I've been more diligent in cleaning the dishes), but there are other aspects of the domestic life which I still don't attempt: Laundry, for one. (I don't mind folding it, necessarily, but I really dislike loading and unloading. Go figure.)
Secondly, as with all things in life, choosing to do one thing excludes every other possibility. By taking cooking lessons, I learn to cook and spend some time with my friends--time I could have otherwise spent cleaning the house, helping put the boys in bed, or writing a better blog post. The entirety of life is a sequence of trade-offs, one thing for another. No choice can be made with a full understanding of the consequences and many times the choice I make seems to be the wrong one.
Lastly, self-improvement is incremental. I spend more time with me than anyone else, which makes it hard to see the changes that I'm making. Sure, I've made tasty burgers for family a few times, learning through mistakes on how to cook the food better each time, but I'm not any better at, say, being conscientious about mowing the lawn or making sure the family room is tidy before I go to bed. Heck, I struggle to organize my life to the point that I can fit my daily shower in at a time that's not horribly inconvenient.
I guess I'm saying that it's important to improve, and I have to be the one who improves, yet the improvement is not necessarily something that benefits others the way I had hoped.
Maybe I should have labeled this as "obvious observations", instead.
I've been trying to improve areas of my life that I have, for a long time, felt lacked. Writing, for example: Inspired by the soundtrack of Hamilton, I realized I wasn't writing nearly enough. Coupled with the inspiration of my friend, Pat, I decided that I needed to start writing every day, regardless of the topic. Another area: I wanted to try to develop some cooking skills. I asked a friend, who had been through culinary school, for private lessons, which I've been attending sporadically (schedules are hard to align) since the beginning of summer.
But putting a concerted effort into improving myself has revealed unexpected problems. First of all, the more areas I try to improve, the more gaps I see in my behavior. Yes, I'm learning to cook (and, as a result, I've been more diligent in cleaning the dishes), but there are other aspects of the domestic life which I still don't attempt: Laundry, for one. (I don't mind folding it, necessarily, but I really dislike loading and unloading. Go figure.)
Secondly, as with all things in life, choosing to do one thing excludes every other possibility. By taking cooking lessons, I learn to cook and spend some time with my friends--time I could have otherwise spent cleaning the house, helping put the boys in bed, or writing a better blog post. The entirety of life is a sequence of trade-offs, one thing for another. No choice can be made with a full understanding of the consequences and many times the choice I make seems to be the wrong one.
Lastly, self-improvement is incremental. I spend more time with me than anyone else, which makes it hard to see the changes that I'm making. Sure, I've made tasty burgers for family a few times, learning through mistakes on how to cook the food better each time, but I'm not any better at, say, being conscientious about mowing the lawn or making sure the family room is tidy before I go to bed. Heck, I struggle to organize my life to the point that I can fit my daily shower in at a time that's not horribly inconvenient.
I guess I'm saying that it's important to improve, and I have to be the one who improves, yet the improvement is not necessarily something that benefits others the way I had hoped.
Maybe I should have labeled this as "obvious observations", instead.
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