Like everyone else, I have a lot of habits. I have foods that I like and eat regularly (mmm, Nutella…). I have social activities that I participate in weekly, like SCA practices and hanging out with my friends to watch bad movies on Friday nights. I read a lot. I tend to wake up and go to bed at the same time (work notwithstanding), at which point I sleep on my usual side of the bed.
Some habits are good, like the aforementioned weekly practices; it gets me out of the house, as well as keeps me active. Some habits are inconsequential, like my tendency to give my towel a quick flick as I get out of the shower. Or the way I fold my legs up under me when sitting in a chair. And, of course, some habits are bad. Like my tendency to check email/Facebook/Tumblr whenever I sit down at my computer, no matter what I was originally intending to do. Or my tendency to brood and over-think my decisions or emotional state.
A lot of the time, I can account for these habits, appending a “why” on to the “what.” Take the towel example I mentioned earlier: my bedroom and bathroom at my parents’ house was in the basement. It was fully finished, but the occasional spider still found its way in to make itself nice and cozy in whatever dark crevice it could find, hanging bath towels included. But what really bothers me are the habits, especially the mental ones, that I can’t account for. Like brooding. Or beating myself up for needing downtime. Or feeling like I’m not “living up to my potential.”
Where did these come from? It really bothers me that I don’t know. Is it something I picked up from my parents? From the culture at large? Or did these habits and beliefs somehow develop spontaneously within my own psyche? And if the latter, how?
I guess the reason it bothers me is because of my belief that if I can just find the root cause, I’ll be well on my way to being able to exorcise (or at least account for) these bad mental habits. After all, everything needs a reason to happen, right?
I’ll admit that this belief might be a touch irrational, but it’s still there. I guess it’s a way of holding on to a sliver of hope that there might be a logical way past my own irrationalities. But mostly, I just succumb to the bad habit of having one more thing to feel guilty about.
And I’m getting sick of that. True, I have trouble accepting a simple “because” as an answer. But even given the grief it causes me I’m not likely to stop analyzing myself any time soon. I guess I’ll just have to figure out some way to live with it.
But it really does bother me, not knowing why.