A lack of self control

I’m bad with money. I order more takeaways than I like to admit. I cycle through gym memberships two or three times a year, creative hobbies come and go, I use my calendar and diary on a week-on-week-off basis and keeping on top of the dishes seems to depend on whether the month’s second full moon has occurred yet or not.

I have terrible self control.

My intentions are almost always good, they’re often great. But there tends to be a huge, invisible obstacle with no name and no purpose in the way when it comes to following through.

I tried to be vegan from the age of 18-22.

I’d transitioned my entire makeup and cosmetics collection to cruelty-free and vegan products, so it felt like the obvious next step was my diet.

The next five years went terribly. I watched a lot of documentaries, I read books and articles, I even spitefully watched vegan creators criticise meaty or even vegetarian What I Eat in a Day videos. I truly believed in the cause, but, when it came down to it, I just couldn’t stick to a vegan diet at all. My fridge and cupboards were filled with all the right things, I knew what supplements to take too. But if I got tipsy at a party, cocktail sausages would be the only cure. If I got drunk? A full on doner kebab.

It wasn’t just when I’d been drinking. Dairy, eggs and eventually, meat, slipped back into my diet. I was wracked with guilt every time I messed up, and would vow to give it up altogether the very next day. I think the longest I lasted consistently was probably a month.

Just a couple of years ago, I decided to give up the self-imposed label and just allow myself to eat what I felt like eating. I still eat a lot of veggie and vegan food, but don’t mentally beat myself up after chicken fajitas now. It’s liberating.

I have this all or nothing attitude towards most things. 

In early 2022, you could find me at the gym at 6:15am - on the dot - at least four mornings a week. If I slipped up, however, and only made it twice, I could cry tears of frustration or end up spending all evening in bed telling myself that I’m a lazy sack of shit.

Last December, I waded through five books without even trying. When the new year rolled in, I’d downloaded Goodreads, set a goal of 30 books and ordered half as many second hand to fill my shelf. Then, at a rainy holiday house with a bunch of friends, I managed to read one single page before my attention drifted elsewhere.

The dates in my written journal tend to be one day after the next six times in a row, then a 20 day gap. In my mind, I can visit a graveyard of abandoned activities: yoga, running, my YouTube channel, regular fake tanning, online courses in anything from astrology to BSL. 

The problem with all or nothing is that sooner or later, you choose nothing.

A few weeks ago, my friend and her partner were near London and wanted to meet up. They had plans to go bouldering, their beloved hobby, so they found a climbing wall near me and invited me to join as a one-off.

I absolutely loved it.

Taking a break from clambering around clumsily, I told my friend how glad I was to try something new. She said ‘There is a specific joy in starting something from scratch. Even when you’re bad at it’.

Trying out new hobbies and dropping them isn’t a character flaw, or a sign of failure. I just really enjoy trying new things. I like to be excited by newness, I like to be terrible at something and slowly learn how to be mediocre.

Really, is there anything morally wrong with trying something, then losing interest and trying something else instead? No. It’s time I stop beating myself up about it.

I’m going to keep trying new things, and I’m going to keep quitting them, too. Maybe I’ll find something I have my heart set on forever, but if not, I’m still going to have a lot of fun.