Breaking Habits

I’m a creature of habit. I have a number of routines programmed into my daily life. Things I just do without thinking… because, well, I’ve been doing them longer then I can remember. So why think about it?

Then, every once in a while, I catch myself. I stop and wonder why I keep doing the thing. Do I even get pleasure out of it? Is there a fruit of my consistent labor? Sometimes the labor is the fruit. It is an occupation of time or a travel route that leads me to cross the roads of others following a similar routine. Or a completely separate one altogether. But, there is merit in the mundane and the repetitive. Not that I shouldn’t stop myself and question. Because habit is not a good justification for anything.

Last November I gave up wine. For a month. The onslaught of the holidays revived my delight in a glass every night. But I was able to go my thirty days without it. I know I don’t need it. And now that the holidays are tidily put away, I plan to go without once in a while.

But the very fact of those thirty days got me thinking. If I could give up wine, what other habit of regularity could I surrender? What would be even more challenging? What would be equally rewarding for my health?

The people who have lived with me know this. And a handful of others, too. I love peanut butter. Love, love, love. Not just any peanut butter. It had to be Jiff. Reduced Fat Jiff… because somehow the reduction made it… healthier? I’ve been re-educating myself a lot about food quality. And I know that peanut butter is one of those top foods one should incorporate into regular consumption. But not the processed stuff. And the reduced fat label… that’s just code for more sugar.

Actually, I’ve known that for a while. But I told myself that peanut butter was good. Real good… so the bad stuff didn’t matter. So every day, I had it on my whole grain bread for breakfast. I ate a spoon out of the jar after a run. I loved peanut butter.

So, maybe it’s not the worst habit in the world. But in the decision to forsake processed food, it was my last exception. My last excuse. A weak link in the chain. A loop hole for other exceptions.

So I gave it up.

It’s been two months. I still eat breakfast every morning. But now I make myself an omelet (this morning it was with fresh spinach, pepper, onion, and oregano). Or if I’m lazy… whole grain cereal. Some days I will toast an English muffin. But I use the real stuff. The peanut butter that you have to stir to blend the oil. The real deal. The stuff with unadulterated nutrition.

I don’t miss it. Which surprises me. After years (including those months in London when I thought living without Jiff was the most significant negative of the English diet), I’m amazed at how easily I release myself from the practice.

So, the thing is… just because something’s always been that way doesn’t mean it has to stay that way. Or that it’s good for me. It’s just because I can’t be bothered to do anything differently. And that’s a pretty lame excuse indeed.