Down the mountain of consistency
Fireflies in the winter? Not very realistic. (Image by Artie_Navarre)
I look forward to the next time I get to play drums in a band.
I’m not sure when it will happen. Of the drum sets I own, only one is local and it’s been appropriated by the leader of a local steel band (whom I happen to be married to). The floor tom sits in the closet, while the rest of the pieces live on the campus of a nearby school.
It’s okay. Our house is too small for a drum set if we want to also have a table to eat at. And I’d like for my office to remain my office — I’m pushing it even keeping a piano in there. But honestly, pianos make friends and drum sets make enemies.
So maybe I’ll play someone else’s set, at someone else’s party or jam session. When the time comes, I will be rusty at first, but no less enthusiastic for that.
But if someone were to ask me whether I play the drums, the answer is not an apologetic, “I used to,” or “once in a while,” or “hopefully, someday.” It’s an unqualified yes, like a child would give. Being a drummer is part of my identity, and there is no agreed-upon threshold below which I must relinquish it.
I’m also a knitter, yogi, singer, songwriter, guitarist, tennis player, and teacher, even though I don’t do all of these things all the time.
There was a phase of my life when I played drums for hours almost every day. I didn’t schedule it. I didn’t work to establish the habit. I didn’t track my streaks. I just played.
And then, at a certain point, I slowed down. I made room for other things, like work and moving to a new house and expanding my business.
Consequently, I haven’t gotten much better at drums since that time of explosive growth. But I haven’t gotten much worse, either.
Much is made of habits and routines and self-improvement plans. People talk of consistency and commitment. There are many books to help you build new habits because it can be really difficult.
So difficult, in fact, that it’s much rarer to hear people talk about what comes next. Once you achieve what you set out to do, what do you do?
As a matter of fact, once you become a person who can count on yourself to do something every day, you may decide that you don’t wish to continue to do that thing every day. And that is not a failure or a lapse. It doesn’t devalue what you have accomplished so far. It simply frees you up to do something else.
In the dead of winter, I am still a sailor and rower. But when the boats and floats are out of the water and covered with snow, I will tend toward writing, reading, knitting, and other cozy indoor activities. Some habits and hobbies aren’t meant to be continuous, but cyclical.
Some habits are easier to create (or extinguish) when it doesn’t have to be forever. Thirty days of posting to TikTok every day, quitting sugar, or starting each day with a walk outside? Doable. Thinking about doing these things for the rest of your life? Overwhelming.
Sometimes I wonder if I would keep up this blog if I had a serious illness or accident that required hospitalization. Probably not. I’d dedicate myself to recovery and healing. Writing is important to me now, but it’s hard to imagine it being so important under those circumstances.
That said, I can never be certain how I would react to such a situation. We can only guess at how we’re going to feel in the future. We don’t know who we’re going to be or what we’re going to want five or ten years from now. We can make our decisions based on what seems like it will be good for us today, and then we can reevaluate that at any time.
I’ve made it to the top of the mountain of consistency many times. It’s a nice view from there. And then, after awhile, I turn around and head back down.
It may seem strange to put all that work into a habit or skill only to let it go, but that’s how you make space for the next climb. What matters is not so much the consistency that you maintain on a given discipline, but the ability to you can follow through on what you set out to do. However you may choose to apply it, that’s the skill to practice.
