Now that the rain has stopped, it is time to make a critically important decision. Mow, or not mow.
The threat that the lawnmower will disappear into the temporary marsh in my back yard lessens with each successive dry day, meaning that Saturday morning will probably be the perfect time to fire up the mower and get it done.
But I know myself, and what I know is that I will go through an hour of mental gymnastics whereby I delay the inevitable by getting immersed in some completely useless chore like organizing my lipsticks in ascending order based on the number printed on the bottom label (beginning with 103, Revlon’s "Caramel Glacé" and ending with 892, L’Oréal’s “Raisin Rapture.”) My friend Polly says this behavior is a sure sign of OCD; I say it’s just being more organized.
Yet I cannot lose myself entirely even in a task that requires all my powers of concentration; the grass dancing in the wind outdoors taunts me. This leads to another delay tactic, questioning and rationalization. “Do I really need to mow today? Could I wait until tomorrow, thus being gentler on the environment and my own lungs?”
Then one of two things happens: I eventually fire up the mower, but I’m grumpy because now I’ve just wasted 45 minutes doing something I now realize was utterly ridiculous, or I feel smug because I have accomplished something TRULY IMPORTANT that will make my life flow more smoothly and save time in the long run. But I will still have to mow.
Despite the seeming inconsistency of such behavior, I am insistent about this: I will not TRY to mow. I will not TRY to vacuum the living room rug, TRY to walk three miles on the treadmill, or TRY not to watch so many episodes of 'House Hunters'. I will not TRY to do anything. I will not use the word TRY unless it is followed by ‘ing’, as in, all this talk about TRY is TRYING my patience.
Think about it. If you tell someone you’ll TRY to do something you’ve given yourself a free pass not to do what you said you’d do.
“Please pick up a gallon of milk on the way home.”
“Okay, I’ll try to do that.”
But then you don’t, either because you never really cared to in the first place, or because you know you can say, well, I didn’t do it - at least I tried.
However, the end result is the same as though you had said, “NO! I WON’T buy any milk! Not at all! Forget it! Don’t ask me!”
Either way, you can't be counted on. Although the second scenario seems like defiant behavior, at least you were being honest about your intentions.
Luckily, in my household, where I am both queen of the castle and her hired help, this dialogue doesn’t take place very often. If I want milk, I can’t TRY to buy it. If I want a tidy lawn, I can’t TRY to mow. If I want to change my tv viewing habits, I can't give it the old college TRY. Because there is no try.
Which is what wise old Yoda said long ago. “Do, or do not. There is no try.” If he could, the Jedi Master might tell me, “Mow, or not mow. But don’t ever waste time arranging your lipsticks in ascending order. Because that’s not mastering the Force; it’s being mastered by it.”
The threat that the lawnmower will disappear into the temporary marsh in my back yard lessens with each successive dry day, meaning that Saturday morning will probably be the perfect time to fire up the mower and get it done.
But I know myself, and what I know is that I will go through an hour of mental gymnastics whereby I delay the inevitable by getting immersed in some completely useless chore like organizing my lipsticks in ascending order based on the number printed on the bottom label (beginning with 103, Revlon’s "Caramel Glacé" and ending with 892, L’Oréal’s “Raisin Rapture.”) My friend Polly says this behavior is a sure sign of OCD; I say it’s just being more organized.
Yet I cannot lose myself entirely even in a task that requires all my powers of concentration; the grass dancing in the wind outdoors taunts me. This leads to another delay tactic, questioning and rationalization. “Do I really need to mow today? Could I wait until tomorrow, thus being gentler on the environment and my own lungs?”
Then one of two things happens: I eventually fire up the mower, but I’m grumpy because now I’ve just wasted 45 minutes doing something I now realize was utterly ridiculous, or I feel smug because I have accomplished something TRULY IMPORTANT that will make my life flow more smoothly and save time in the long run. But I will still have to mow.
Despite the seeming inconsistency of such behavior, I am insistent about this: I will not TRY to mow. I will not TRY to vacuum the living room rug, TRY to walk three miles on the treadmill, or TRY not to watch so many episodes of 'House Hunters'. I will not TRY to do anything. I will not use the word TRY unless it is followed by ‘ing’, as in, all this talk about TRY is TRYING my patience.
Think about it. If you tell someone you’ll TRY to do something you’ve given yourself a free pass not to do what you said you’d do.
“Please pick up a gallon of milk on the way home.”
“Okay, I’ll try to do that.”
But then you don’t, either because you never really cared to in the first place, or because you know you can say, well, I didn’t do it - at least I tried.
However, the end result is the same as though you had said, “NO! I WON’T buy any milk! Not at all! Forget it! Don’t ask me!”
Either way, you can't be counted on. Although the second scenario seems like defiant behavior, at least you were being honest about your intentions.
Luckily, in my household, where I am both queen of the castle and her hired help, this dialogue doesn’t take place very often. If I want milk, I can’t TRY to buy it. If I want a tidy lawn, I can’t TRY to mow. If I want to change my tv viewing habits, I can't give it the old college TRY. Because there is no try.
Which is what wise old Yoda said long ago. “Do, or do not. There is no try.” If he could, the Jedi Master might tell me, “Mow, or not mow. But don’t ever waste time arranging your lipsticks in ascending order. Because that’s not mastering the Force; it’s being mastered by it.”
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