We are what we
repeatedly do. Excellence, then, is not an act, but a habit.
-- Aristotle
Aristotle must have been stoned when he coined
that, it’s how I trivialize every important discovery. I mean it is so obvious,
and yet people still come off the blocks defending their habits. First step is
admitting, I have been a serial late comer all my life. It boiled down to lack
of planning for anything and everything. I always winged it and it worked. I was
brought up in a strict home. My parents were sticklers for rules and they were
big on repeat offenses. Whenever I did something wrong, my mother never shied
away from pulling previous related mistakes. In short I was a repeat offender. Time
was spent charting a chronological path I had taken that had led me to my
current mistake and mother always knew how, where and when the dots connected. It
was her superpower weaving actions reactions and dishing consequences. My father
on the other hand believed that every mistake was a lesson. He still holds this
belief to date. I was coasting through life, I never worried much and
subscribed to the thought that what is past has already passed.
I took a look at my time management skills or their
lack thereof and concluded Aristotle had something going. When I was in primary
school I had a habit of getting ready early then slipping behind the curtains
for a nap. I stood during this nap; it is possible (without meditation or
medication). I always listened out for my name being called and I would appear
just as my father folded his hands to pray. I succeeded in making it to school
early because my parents wouldn’t have it otherwise. My siblings also helped,
my younger brother always woke me up as he was going to the bathroom and would
do the same when he came out. I would then proceed to the bathroom have my
shower and rejoin him in the bedroom we shared as my nightmare begun.
Each morning was a game of memory-jogging trying to
remember where I may have kept my tie, my books (after doing my homework or
just staring at it), I couldn’t find my sweater, I just winged it. I did not
think anything was the matter. I would not admit it either it would just be
admitting my parents were right. I realize now just how foolish that is, that
was, that will always be. I went on to complete my primary school studies
winging it. I joined high school and was away from home for the first time. I was
thirteen and hell bent on maximizing my freedom. In high school if the bell
rings for morning preps you had about five minutes between the bell ringing and
you sitting in class. The distance from the classes to the dormitory could be a
kilometer or less but people had done it, you were not an exception.
I suddenly realized the importance of having a neat
shirt on the ready, brushing my shoes at night and sleeping after showering. Those
activities I could not manage to cram into five minutes in the five-minute-morning.
As I advanced in classes I was chosen prefect, a privilege I abused with such
delight I wonder how I stayed on for so long. As a prefect several people were
willing to do me favors in exchange for a pardon for a mistake made sometimes
out of a misguided belief that I owed them something. Most times you asked
someone to do something for you and they did; no malice. As such I stopped
brushing my shoes in form 2 someone took care of it. I had a clean shirt and
trouser each day and I was up early, all taken care of. No one was bothered by
the habits I was forming though. I was taking it all for granted, while my
friends planned for exams and had timetables I thumbed through what I felt
like, mostly novels and magazines. I wasn’t too worried with getting to class
late for preps I was a prefect no one would question. I finished my high school
still being woken up.
Going back home my mother castigated my sleeping
hours, I started thinking maybe the problem was indeed the sleep. Fast forward
to campus, I recall I only kept or followed the timetable for a semester. It was
a lot of trouble because essentially I was trying to rewrite a tale. I was
relearning a habit I never quite remembered grasping. I had at each stage of my
life dropped consistency with every activity to the point that winging it had in
fact become my habit. I repeatedly acted aloof went about life without a plan
and seldom following through the many plans I set out. I have lived to see the
habit tear apart more than it has built. I have seen it take center stage at
the staging of my life’s orchestra and even conduct it a few times. I know what
it means to go through motions of only hoping and wishing and finally lamenting.
I have been honest enough to admit that my parents were right. It is better to
have a plan and fail for then you may retrace your steps to the glitch. Success
with no plan is short-lived. So I made a plan and this is me following it. I don’t
know what comes of it, I just know it is yet another plan made, it begs so desperately
to be followed. What are your habits? Are they your excellence?
#100daysofblogging #day19
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