I know what it is I would like to do, but I just don't feel like doing it. Can you relate?
For the past two months or so--honestly, it could be three months; I've lost track of time--I have been getting up each morning and going for a walk. I've been walking anywhere from 2 to 6 miles every morning, and I love it. I have always really enjoyed walking. Yet, for the past ten years of my life, I forgot that I enjoyed walking so much. It was always work. It was always a hassle. And it was always the last thing I felt like doing.
Back in college, I can literally say I walked 2 miles to school, one way. (Actually, I looked up my walking routes. My usual walking route was about 2.3 miles, and the short route I took when pressed for time was just over 1.5 miles.) I used my walks as times of prayer and reflection. It was also a great way to wake up in the morning and be ready for my music theory class. On my way home, I'd frequently be reflecting on my philosophy texts I had been reading during the day. I'd had many philosophical, personal, and spiritual epiphanies on my walks.
And then, I got married, had kids, and (regrettably) moved out to a country road that was not amenable to walking at all. Walks became something I had to drive to, which defeats the whole purpose. Over time, I just lost my desire to walk, or even the memory that I really loved walking.
Let me pause here and talk about my candy corn problem. I know, this is a sudden jump, but it will all make sense, I promise.
I hate candy corn. It is the worst of all candies. It tastes like unicorn barf, sweet and sugary, but gross and disgusting at the same time. Yet, as Halloween approaches, and the shelves fill with this revolting treat, I know that I am likely to, at some point, buy a bag of candy corn. It's a habit. I used to love candy corn as a kid, and the thought of candy corn puts me into a state of nostalgia. The 7 year old me would die for some candy corn. And so, just about every Halloween, I buy one bag of candy corn to resurrect that nostalgia and feed my inner child. And every year, I begin to eat it, gag, and throw the bag away. I don't even save it for my kids. I'm repulsed at the idea that they might like it. Straight into the garbage it goes.
My point about candy corn, and walking, is this: sometimes, what you feel like doing is not the thing you know you'll enjoy. And sometimes, the things you know you'll enjoy are not the things you'll feel like doing. Every year, I feel like eating candy corn, even though I know I will not enjoy it. The reverse is true for walking.
When it comes to walking, I made the mistake of letting my feelings control my actions. As life got busy, as circumstances made walking more difficult, my immediate feelings towards walking were, "Ugh, that's so much work." In reality, however, what I was really doing was making an excuse for not doing what I loved.
In the Bible, St. Paul presents the paradox of being prone to doing that which he does not want to do, while also not doing that which he wants to do. (See Romans 7:15-20) When Christians discuss this passage, St. Paul is often understood to be talking about sin or our tendency to sin. It is often surrounded in theological terms, like concupiscence. But I think that reading is a little simplistic, even if overly theological. This experience is not vague and abstract, the way we tend to be when we talk about sin. St. Paul is not saying, "I want to be a good person, but I do bad things." That's too general to mean anything. No, what St. Paul is really talking about is, "I don't want candy corn, but I buy it anyway," and "I really enjoy walking, but I don't feel like making time for it."
In ancient Greece, there was a maxim associated with the Oracle at Delphi. "Know thyself." I am trying to follow this advice more an more. Sometimes, knowing yourself means knowing what you will enjoy doing and not merely what you feel like doing. I know I will enjoy the walk, even if I don't feel like walking. I know I'll enjoy a trip to the museum, even if I feel like lying in bed all day. I know it will be refreshing to read a book with a hot chocolate, even if I feel like watching cat videos on YouTube.
You see, distinguishing between your feelings on one hand and your actual honest to goodness likes and dislikes on the other is essential to living a happy life. There is a quote attributed to Benjamin Disraeli (though I cannot find the original) which I really like. It is this: You may do what you please, provided it really pleases you. (Paraphrased in "The Intellectual Life," by A.G. Sertillanges.) To me, this statement rings so very true.
Live the life you enjoy, not the life that you feel like living.
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