Evening Me is a tough nut to crack. Without trying to sound completely DSM-IV, it’s like there’s a whole different set of logic and rationales that come into play later in the day. Justifications and rationales for bad eatin’, mostly.
Part of it is definitely that I still view things like food logging as a chore. It’s hard to look at it as a chore, but when I am making bad decisions, it’s worse than a chore. It is the full bore of my guilty conscience hammering down on me. That’s worse!
So Evening Me has a few things going for him:
- I’m tired, so my willpower is low
- My default state is “eat!”, so my neutral state is bad
- I inherently push back against “do this” good behaviours
- I still frame things that are dumb as “fun” instead of stupid
…you know, it’s actually pretty miraculous that I’m not drinking.
Evening Me thinks I’m taking on too much.
While Morning Me (and Day Me) struggle to focus on all three legs of the good livin’ stool, Evening Me capitulates. Day Me understands why I’m doing what I’m doing. Evening Me wonders what the point is.
And I’m still not sure how to talk to that guy.
(Externalizing this into an entirely different persona probably isn’t a good start, or super healthy).
Maybe it’s time to try something radical and silly. The kind of thing that I would normally mock roundly. Morning Me leaves notes for evening me? Maybe I should clear time after work to listen to my own podcast? Strange objects in the fridge and cupboard to shock me out of automatism?
All of these ideas make me cringe. It’s all so goofy and it all sounds like something written in a book by somebody who cares about “satisfaction” but doesn’t need a day job. Ugh.
But — it’s day Sixty-Three, and I’m firing on several cylinders, so I have the luxury of focusing on the things that aren’t working while being okay with the things that are.