Later On

This is a new development. I just noticed it today, but in that way when you realize that you’re just now aware of something felt vaguely once or twice before. I wanted to go for a walk—not so much as a duty but for its own sake: the enjoyment.

Well, obviously, this is exactly what one wants: to make duty a pleasure, to derive enjoyment from a chore. That’s the whole idea behind the traditional wetshaving movement: make the necessary shave an enjoyable ritual. So, for exercise, too? Of course!

But it happened not by conscious plan, but (I’m prepared to believe) by my unconscious. I can readily see how the unconscious self might become convinced that exercise is important and thus start to activate motivators—and the little shot of dopamine is just the thing, augmented by a smidgin of smugness about getting the recommended amount of exercise (“30-minute walk daily”). But that’s a conscious pleasure, I suppose. And, on the conscious level, I’m certainly aware that the walk is now easy, the time short, and a real pleasure in knowing that walking a lot longer would not provide any significant increase in benefit. It makes me feel like I’m getting away with something—shooting the moon.

Now that it’s a pleasure, I find myself making sure to work it into the day—emphasis on “sure”: I want to know exactly when I will take my walk, and by Jove, I’m out the door on the dot if not before. … I recall just now a few days ago when I looked at my watch, realized I had nothing I needed to do in the next hour, and immediately set off for my walk—no MP3 player, no hat, no waiting: look at watch, glance at sky (sort of overcast but not threatening), and walk away. I also remember picturing the turnaround point for my walk and thinking that it was fairly close—or at worst, not far.

So now I need to figure out how one could deliberately cause such a transition in point of view. I’m certainly going to enjoy (while I can) this new mindset, but I really would like to explain how someone else might achieve such a result—the same impulse that made me write the shaving book.