Infomercials Are True: aka "The Way out is Through" Part 1

Guest blog by Jon Nicholson


I severed my Achilles tendon in my right foot playing hockey.
To be more accurate: a reckless HACK severed it for me with a two-handed CHOP to the back of my ankle during a rec league ball hockey game.
I was playing to "get back my lungs".
I actually WAS getting them back against and with players almost 20 years younger and less skilled. Until then.
An explosion of pain. Brief though. When I tried to get up I fell down thinking "what?".
Again I tried an failed.
The foot hung loose, dangling, disconnected from my will and understanding.


dot dot dot


It was six months before I could walk. And then, the foot turned out a bit, unconsciously protecting itself.
The golf game that was comfortable at +6, gone. Now +25.
Rainy days, more annoying. The broken arms, nose, collarbone, etc now had a fresh companion.


You live. You eat. You do less. You "get busy".
You take shortcuts. You come up with a hundred reasons and distractions.
It's not drastic. It's like someone stealing one hair out of your head every night for a century. Slow attrition.


And then one night, the infomercial comes on.
I stop. Watch for a couple of seconds. Turn the channel. Then back.
"THIS IS INSANITY."
Hmm... Insanity huh.
I weigh in that night at 199.6 pounds.
This is NOT the heaviest I have been. I've been 206.
I'm 6' 2". It's not a weight that draws stares. When you're tall and you're under 230, no one would consider you overweight.
The BMI tool online says that you should be @ 175.
That tool is crazy. Clearly.


When I see the infomercial I'm 199.6 pounds.
I'm 38 years old and not participating in any organized activity since the injury. I limp. I eat a lot of complex carbs, cheese, pizza, hamburgers. I drink a lot of non-light beer. I work hard. I sit all day. I'm rewarded for using my brain. I drink a lot of diet soda. I smoke cigarettes. They relax me.


This is the set-up. This is the prologue.


Kind regards for the guest spot,
Jon

Let Mommy Buy the Gifts, Daddy...

My son, Alexander, came to me the other day with an urgent matter on his mind.  He asked me to sit beside him on the couch and then he explained that, “I should get a Star Wars video game for Christmas because that will make me happy.”

A four-year-old can never plan too early for Christmas.

I have to admit, there are times when I think the best I can do as a parent is to keep my kids from losing teeth at the playground.  But here was a teachable moment!  My son was already succumbing to the myth that material possessions bring happiness and I could help him!

It happens to all of us.  The feeling we get when we buy that new toy; be it a computer, a car, or…a toy.  There’s novelty, excitement, dare I say it: Happiness!  It lasts for a few weeks and the happy feeling wears off (providing you don’t go and buy something else new).  You either get used to it or you see someone with something better and your stuff doesn’t seem as nice anymore.

Some people measure their success by their possessions, and if you know any, ask yourself if they’re happy or if they’re struggling to keep up with the Joneses.

Most of us define ourselves by our experiences.  People feel the most alive and in the moment when we are trying something new.  We’re also more likely to bring others along with us which also helps our mood.  I travel.  I conquered a fear of heights by skydiving.  I invite friends over for dinner each week. I write.  I sing.  I dance.  I learned something new.  I volunteer… 

Or, I watched tv last night.  I played a new video game.

Alexander was skeptical that experiences can provide more lasting happiness than toys and he provided counter-examples of times when new toys made him happy.  I asked him if those same toys still made him as happy.  He was shaken, but remained undaunted in his stance on Christmas gifts.

I told him that science backs me up on this.

That got him.  Apparently he trusts peer-reviewed research more than his cheap father.

I don’t think he was completely convinced, but I knew this lesson would take some time to learn.  Some people never learn.  This was just a first step in his young life. 

He hopped off the couch and wrapped up the conversation with, “I’d like some experiences, but I don’t want Santa to bring me any for Christmas.”