I’ve been trying to improve myself lately, which is embarrassing, because self-improvement is just admitting you weren’t doing great. It’s like, “I’m on a journey.” No you’re not. You’re just tired of your own behavior.
So I downloaded one of those habit apps. The app is so optimistic. It’s like, “Day 1: Drink water.” And I’m like, “Relax. I’m not an astronaut. I know about water. I’m just busy ignoring it.”
And every app has the same tone: gentle, supportive, like a therapist who charges you by the notification. “Don’t forget to breathe today.” Thank you, phone. I was going to forget to be alive, but you saved me.
I tried meditation too. People always say, “It changed my life.” That’s a lot of pressure for something that looks like a nap with extra steps. I’m sitting there, trying to clear my mind… and immediately my brain starts acting like a coworker who just discovered talking.
It’s like: “Remember middle school? Here’s a list of things you said wrong, in order. Also, your posture is weird. Also, your teeth are probably loose. Also, what if everyone secretly hates you?” And the meditation guy is like, “If thoughts come, observe them and let them pass.” Mine don’t pass. Mine move in.
And the worst part is the calm voice. “Picture yourself beside a gentle stream.” Great. Now I’m stressed out next to water. Now my anxiety has a scenic view.
I started going on more walks, too, because everyone says walks are good for mental health. That’s true, but nobody tells you the real challenge: walking makes you look approachable.
When you’re walking, everyone thinks you’re available. People stop you with questions like you work for the sidewalk. “Excuse me, do you know where the bank is?” No, but now I’m invested. Now I’m your guide. We’re a team. I’m going to feel guilty if you don’t find that bank.
Also, walking is when your neighbors do their best work. You ever notice that? Neighbors don’t talk when it’s convenient. They talk when you have headphones in, carrying groceries, holding a coffee, and your body language is screaming, “I have a schedule.”
And they hit you with a conversation that has no exit. It starts normal: “Hey, how’s it going?” and then suddenly you’re trapped. “So anyway, my cousin is suing the HOA, and the judge used to date my aunt, and the whole thing started because of a mailbox.” I’m standing there nodding like, “Wow.” Meanwhile my ice cream is in my bag going through a personal crisis.
My favorite is when people ask, “Any plans this weekend?” That question feels like a performance review for your free time. Like if you say, “Not really,” they look concerned, like you just confessed you don’t know how to be a person.
I’ve started lying. “Oh, I’m booked.” Booked with what? Just… thoughts. Appointments with my couch. A very exclusive event called “Avoiding Everyone.”
And I’ve realized adulthood is mostly trying to seem like you have a system. Like you’ll say stuff like, “I’m really focusing on routines.” And what you mean is, “I ate cereal for dinner and I hope nobody finds out.”
But I am trying. I’m drinking more water. I’m walking. I’m meditating. I’m becoming that person who says things like, “I’m just listening to my body.” Which is wild, because my body has terrible ideas. My body’s always like, “We should scroll for an hour. We should eat something beige. We should worry about a conversation from 2014.”
So if you see me out there, improving myself, just know: it’s not a journey. It’s a negotiation.
