What’s your ultimate procrastination? Emptying the dishwasher? Cleaning out the turd-o’clock kitty litter? Calling your nut-ball mother? Losing the belly bulge? Sex this month… this year? Having your balls or boobies checked (this is a non-negotiable… Google the self-check now boys, girls book that mamogrambo).
Self-help evangelists squeeze bestseller billions out of aspiring to be more proactive people’s pockets every year. I’ve a few dozen ear-marked 7-day improvement volumes lining my bedside shelves. Everything from The Art of Mindfulness to The Four Hour Working Week… I’ve eagerly devoured, preached and procrastinated them all.
“Live life with Passion”
Anthony Robbin’s final words on his self-improvement pack of 100 CDs. In the 90s Robbins was King of the university of ‘me’. Plugging in the Walkman to his 7ft boomtronic voice meant your 30 day ticket to blossom-dom. With three easy payments of $45.95 you could be rich, date shoulder-padded power women, resolve a global nuclear crisis, kill your crack addiction, retire at 25 and discover Catholicism.
I’d drive my rust-mobile to work everyday with my porta-preacher car buddy Robbins pumping through the stereo. Were people staring? I couldn’t care. Clearly I was on the road to 60 minute amazingness.
Back in the formative years of this stadium-sized ‘better you’ preach self-improvement was exactly that – a new religion the bitter and synical could latch onto. It was hope minus the cobweb’d testaments. Greed is ok. Giving is good too. Success is absolute. If you fail pick yourself up, slap the cheeks and start your engines for a second go.
Today, with Anthony firmly in the Donahue/Choose Life/permed past the TV-offer’d self-help addition has been replaced by Buddha and iPhone apps. It’s 2011 and we’re all about meditation and optimised efficiency. Cull the email checks, send calls to voicemail, breathe, hire a virtual PA, a few downward dogs, work remotely and avoid anything to do with a meeting. Bulldoze efficiency… champion effectiveness… Namaste.
In my phone’s tick-list app there are double digit calendar categories for all facets of the day’s routine… work, sweat, play, eat, invest, rest, breathe, cough, pluck, shuck… all colour coded and prioritised. There’s a list for the must-dos and deadlines down to the second for phone calls, yoga classes and checking of facebook. The highlight of my sad day is watching the app seamlessly sync with my desktop using cloud back-up for the whole over-virgo’d virtual chaos. Nerd.
Then there’s the Jesus evangelistic boom. His no.1 biblical bestseller is chockers full of commandments, parables and philosophy to help get your sin-filled life back on track – get that faith – you know you can do it. Commit, sing, pray and reap the rewards. Every week thousands in Sydney flock to the rock concert-like Hillsong for an uplifting hour of song and dance.
During my school years a friend dragged me to suburban Fellowship aka God-school. He saw it as a chance to show me the way, the light, the happy clapping of life. Maybe he thought introducing God could help improve my average pubescent existence. That night we were asked to share our preference for either an empty life to a ripe 3-digit’d 100, or a full life with Jesus on our case everyday to a measly 50. Clearly I ticked the wrong box. I was ignored for weeks. I was uninvited to his birthday party. How very un-Christian… little shithead.
Cynicism aside there’s always room for a splash of balanced self-improvement in all of us. There’s no need to ‘Amway’ the experience… over do it and you’ll soon be heading towards a position in real estate, life coaching or car sales. Instead take just what you need. Mantra-fy a phrase or two to stick on the fridge. It’ll be something positive and motivational to absorb when you reach for the leche in the morning.
Go on… drink that Soy Latte with passion.
Enjoy. Live life. Love
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