I love fall. The crisp morning air, the contrast of the colorful leaves against clear blue skies, the colder nights. This year my husband and l vacationed in New Hampshire’s Green Mountains just to see the fall foliage of the East Coast. The locals call people like us “peepers.” It was breathtaking for sure but you know what? Autumnal Oregon is just as breathtaking. There is a maple tree outside my bedroom window I could stare at for hours. I should say there was a tree. It’s gone now.
I protested vehemently three years ago when my husband announced he needed to chop down my majestic maple which had given me hours of daydreaming pleasure every October when its huge leaves turned a brilliant yellow. Something about its proximity to the house, the roof, the septic, he explained as he revved the chain saw. The kids were ecstatic of course when they didn’t have to rake its leaves anymore.
We still have leaves, mind you. I made my husband plant fourteen more maples on the perimeter of our property to take the place of the one he sacrificed. With kids grown and gone, leaf duty falls to me. I actually look forward to it, re-framing the work as a productive form of exercise, fresh air, vitamin D, being outside with my dog, all that good dopamine producing positive thinking. And I capitalize on efficiency by blowing the leaves onto the grass first, then cutting the grass and vacuuming the leaves at the same time with my mulching lawn mower, grass catcher in tow. Think of all that compost. It’s energizing.
But today I ran out of gas. Literally. I was halfway finished with the job when the engine kicked off. I tracked down our gas cans. The two I found were empty. Simple enough, I reasoned. Just put the cans and the dog in the car and drive the three miles to the local gas station, have a chat with the owner Cindy while she fills them, and get right back to work. No big deal. But I felt drained. I could not move. Why? Why did I have the energy to do the work of blowing and mowing but zero energy for the simple task of filling up gas cans? The all too familiar tape played automatically in my brain: “You are lazy.”
I have heard that more than once from patients when I inquire about the barriers they face for positive behavior change. “I guess I’m just lazy,” they often reply. I did what I encourage my patients to do in this paralyzing moment and investigated that negative thought. Is it true? What is the history? What is the proof? The truth is I’m not lazy just as I know my patients are not lazy. We do tend to take the path of least resistance, however. It’s human nature. We come by it honestly and energy conservation serves us well most of the time. It is thermodynamics.
I still did not want to wrestle my dog into the car. So I told myself the next truth: I have enough energy to take the next small step. I called my husband. “Don’t we have a gas can around here that actually has gas in it?” He told me where a third, full gas can was hiding. I found it, filled the tank, and finished the job.
Telling myself the truth and not condemning myself for my humanity changed the potential energy I knew I had into the kinetic energy I needed to take the next small step. Telling myself the truth sparked action. Telling myself the truth makes all the difference.
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