It all started with a faux-velvet jade-green couch.

Through a series of recent experiments in late-stage capitalism (we bought a new couch because the old one seemed “floopy”) I realized I spend more time psycho-analyzing the smaller things in life (choosing faux-velvet over faux-leather) than the bigger ones. The revelation landed as I stopped browsing Living Spaces. I immediately opened Reddit to bury it, but the front-page had different ideas.

A racoon girl was flying on ice. It was time to psycho-analyze some “big” stuff.

Pushing yourself, and other mind games

I have a love-hate relationship with the phrase “push yourself”. The love comes from strong environmental and survivorship biases. The hate comes from the many, many things I’ve told myself along the way and how that’s changed me.

The problem isn’t the desire to push myself, or a lack thereof. It’s that “pushing myself” has slowly become my default coping mechanism. There is no time or space I afford myself to truly come to terms with a new situation, especially a difficult or uncertain one. All doubts, fears are deflected with a dual-walled shield of “working hard” and “pushing myself”. And when it’s over, I’m often left feeling hollow, regarless of the outcome.

If this is somewhat relatable, and you’re having an existential crises because you can’t understand how you’ve come to be this way: please browse r/AITA to distract your mind. For me, part of the it is probably the environment I grew up in. Preach “hard work” as a virtue and people will never really question it. And for a while that was enough – why search for an explanation when you dimiss the need for one?

Treating “hard work” as a virtue (i.e. working hard because I should) was enough to get me through college. Those were simpler times. I had a path, a time-table, and no real reason to ask why or really pause over the real problems – “hard work” was the default solution.

Over time, once I graduated and I had the time/space/job/money/luxury (take your pick) to really think is when the cracks started to appear in my armor. It was a confusingly transitionary period in my life. As far as social contracts go, I think I had full-filled all my clauses – I went to school, got a job, moved to my own place, and became completely independent. Freedom was my reward. So why did I still feel a need to push myself?

Probably because that’s the only thing that made sense at the time (if that makes sense). I leaned on it like it’s a safe space. No matter what was really bothering me – my future, my past, my non-existent dating life – I could just turn on “push mode” and convince myself that I’m doing fine. Push myself at work, push myself in the gym, push to master the guitar, push to run a lot.

Somehow this felt easier than addressing the real issues (i.e. past, future, I’m going to die alone). And it’s the Michaels’ fault.

The first Michael

An entire childhood spent watching Michael Jordan in Space Jam (first on VCR, then on DVD) made me want to be like Mike. It’s the sort of stuff that really stays with you; the obsessions “idols” are made from. So naturally as a confused YA struggling to follow through with what he “ought to”, I turned to Michael. Knowing what I know now, I don’t think I found a very healthy answer.

There is a difference between treating “hard work” like a virtue, and believing that it is the only way. That the only way to be someone, get something, achieve (greatness?) is by working hard and pushing yourself. That’s what this Michael gave me – what separates the “haves” from the “have nots” is their desire to push themselves.