In some vaguely defined future, between finally paying off my credit cards and being summoned to appear before the robot overlord to justify my existence, I anticipate somehow having more free time at my disposal. This will be because I have visited the self-help section of McNally-Robinson Booksellers and have learned to prioritize tasks—to ‘work smarter, not harder.’ I will actually size myself, or become self-actualized, or whatever the correct terminology is. Not bragging, but I can easily imagine myself attaining transcendent heights that would send your average Zen Buddhist monk reeling with spiritual altitude sickness.
This change, nay, revolution in my life will have significant, positive ramifications not only for my personal wellness, but the wellbeing of those around me. I will enrich both intellect and soul through the practice of mindfulness, no longer trying to light a cigarette, find the defrost knob, and hit the right button to get Nickelback the hell off the radio, all while navigating rush hour traffic in my one-eyed Corolla with the dodgy brakes. Instead, I will focus on the task at hand, while being constantly aware of the rhythm of my breathing. No longer will I curse fellow motorists. I will remind myself that they are part of the singularity and see the same ocean I do. Luxuriating in the newfound time at my disposal, I will enhance and expand upon my tantric skills in a number of areas, thus doing my part to spread world peace.
Beyond Living in the Moment, which is vastly superior to Working for the Weekend, (if only because it was never the title of a Loverboy song), or other temporal strategies of mine, such as Living Paycheque-to-Paycheque, I will adopt a soon-to-be-specified number of the habits of successful, beautiful, popular people. ‘What would Gwyneth Paltrow do?’ will become my personal mantra.
Nor will these improvements be the only way in which I will transform my life before finally pogo-sticking my way off this mortal coil. I will also turn the corner toward physical health. Goodbye chilled vodka, defrosted meatloaf, and Percocet binges. Hello…whatever could possibly replace those. (Hang on a sec) Right. Enemas and turmeric shots. Sayonara dirty martinis and last call at Rae and Jerry’s Steakhouse, bienvenue matcha powder and pilates.
Of course, as Confucius never got tired of pointing out, even the longest freaking journey begins with that first tentative step. (Obviously, if other more preferable modes of transportation are readily available, they should be considered.) For me, that initial step will take the form of cutting ties with some of the more unsavory of my associates. No more time spent in idle pursuits with fairweather friends who, unable to live in the moment themselves, tiresomely insist on the settling of long-ago bar tabs. No more time reserved for unworthy souls whose highest level of esoteric knowledge extends no further than knowing when to fold a hand of Low Chicago, and the best method of “hiding a shank from the screws.”
I have a really good feeling about this. It could be the psychic birth of a whole new me.