Getting Better All The Time

I sat down at my laptop this morning, coffee in hand, ready to begin documenting my latest project. I'm calling this one, The Great Self-Improvement Project: Getting better one day at a time. I'd done my research, highlighted my notes, and was feeling particularly braced about the whole endeavor.

Yes, I am aware that Bertie Wooser maintains that just when a bucko is feeling top-notch about the day, Fate is around the next corner, strategically placing banana skins near the storm drain. But we Genomes do not easily lose our mettle.

I opened a new file and began creating my manifesto. 'Self-improvement,' I typed, 'is the act of making oneself a better person in every facet of life, by improving and enhancing one's knowledge and character by one's own effort.'

'Oh, please,' came Amy's voice from somewhere behind my left ear. "Did you just write something about 'every facet of life'? Baby, I AM every facet of your life. Good luck improving me."

I was determined to keep my composure and ignored her with fierce determination, if that's even possible. My fingers flew across the keyboard as I wrote, 'Meditation is one of the most powerful tools for developing honest self-awareness, and my years of Zen meditation have taught me that self-improvement must begin with self-awareness.'

"Zen meditation?" Amy snorted. "You mean sitting on the floor, staring into space, doing nothing while I'm in here planning my next reality TV pilot? That's not self-awareness, that's self-denial. I'm the one who's actually aware of what's going on in here."

My fingers hovered over the keyboard. Something about her tone stirred my curiosity, but past experience warned me to ignore her, and I pressed on. 'Self-improvement almost always starts with self-awareness and developing the ability to transform attitudes, thinking, and habits.'

"Transform what now?" Amy interrupted. "Listen, genius, I'm in charge of your attitudes, and my thinking is that this is just another of your big plans that will fizzle out in a day or so. And you know I'm right; you just don't want to admit it."

"What is wrong with you this morning?" I asked. "You're far worse than usual. Are you upset that we're not going to Ocean Isle today?"

"I'm merely living in the moment," she said. "Doing my best to keep you in line, and since you asked, there's nothing wrong with me, which is why I don't need a self-improvement program."

I took a deep breath and began typing again. 'If we are to become better at anything, we must develop the ability to be rigorously honest in assessing our attitudes.'

Amy's voice returned, but suspiciously sweet for a change. "Oh, you want rigorous honesty? Here's the honest truth for you, baby: You're sitting here typing up self-improvement plans while I'm literally the part of your brain that sabotages everything. I'm the fox guarding the henhouse."

I grimaced at the thought but forged on: 'Forget about striving to reach goals...' I wrote, but my mind suddenly went blank. There seemed to be an idea or a realization trying to surface from the depths of my mind.

"You're not paying attention, Genome. I'm the one who can help you, and without my help, you're powerless. Watching you ignore me and write your master plan is more entertaining than binge-watching the Naked at Work television series!"

I moved on to the final section of my plan: 'I've found smart, science-backed self-improvement guides on the Internet, but information on the web can be confusing, contradictory, and just plain wrong.'

"Finally!" Amy exclaimed. "Something we agree on! The internet is full of contradictory garbage. Just like this plan you're typing up. You're literally using your brain to make plans that your brain is going to sabotage."

'You must be able to 'rightly divide the word,'' I continued typing, 'but you can't do it alone. You will need help from an impartial guide—not a friend; not a family member; but a truly impartial person who is willing to work with you.'

"Impartial guide?" Amy's voice turned calculating. "You know what you need? You need a good manager. Someone with vision who understands the entertainment value of your inevitable failure. Someone like... oh, I don't know... ME. I could be your self-improvement consultant. For a small fee, of course."

I stared at the screen, realizing that somehow, in trying to document my path to betterment, I'd just given Princess Amy her next business venture.

"I get too much help from you already," I said. "And your help is no help at all."

“Oh, but I’m not talking about my own personal services. I have connections with the people you really need to hear from if you’re serious about becoming a better person. In fact, you’re already connected with them, but you usually ignore their advice and respond to anxiety instead.”

Despite her sarcasm, she managed to hold my attention. I asked, “Amy, what exactly are you talking about—if you’re talking about anything at all?”

"Have you forgotten all the program teachings you learned when you were sobering up? You were supposed to get to know yourself. You already have all the answers you need inside you. Your problem is that you're caught in the anxiety spiral."

"Anxiety spiral?" 

"That's right," she said. "You were taught from an early age, just like everyone else, to activate a spiraling, self-perpetuating cycle of anxiety. The anxiety keeps spinning and accelerating without any awareness on your part because it all seems normal.

"Your ticket out of that spiral is to reconnect with some personalities from your past. With my guidance, you can engage with Reason, Joy, and Optimism, my colleagues here in your limbic system, which I like to call my command console, by the way.

Once we do that, you'll be able to make some real progress on self-improvement."

"Amy, I know better than to listen to you, and yet, something in what you say makes sense. Do I dare trust you?

"Oh, baby," Amy purred, "you have no idea how much fun this is going to be for me. But don't worry—I'll be here every step of the way, making sure it's never boring for you. Trust me, I'm an influencer."

"This," I muttered to myself, "is going to be a longer journey than I thought."