My Ideal Self Expects a Lot of Me. Maybe More Than I Can Deliver.
One of the best things about my shrink is that he never asks me, “How does that make you feel?”
He knows that I always feel conflicted. Conflicted by the tug-of-war between my retirement self, who wants to kick back and take it easy — in macro doses — and my other self, who wants to finish a book and carve a six-pack in my midriff and learn to play piano, among other things.
“Get off the treadmill!” he implores me. “You’re not gonna outrun your unquenchable desire for accomplishment, recognition, and validation.”
Because I never got enough of those during a childhood influenced by my father’s mental illness, I’m now doomed to an endless search for them unless I wise up.
That’s what he keeps telling me. And telling me. It reminds me of the TV psychologist played by comedian Bob Newhart on the eponymous 1970s sitcom. He’d calmly listen to his patients revealing tormenting fears they can’t stop worrying about and then give them a stern but simple command: “Just stop it.”
In our last session, my shrink introduced a new psychotherapeutic concept to our work: Carl Rogers’s theory of “the self-actualizing tendency.” In a nutshell, Rogers believed that all living things strive to make the very most of their existence. For plants and animals, this comes relatively easily, at least psychologically. Unlike us, they have no conflicts over whether to do the things that they are naturally inclined to do: grow, flourish, and thrive, whether they’re plants, insects, or animals.
Humans, though, in order to “self-actualize,” must achieve maximum congruence between their “true selves” and their “ideal selves.” Incongruence causes psychic tension — the mental conflict I experience when, say, I feel like going to the movies instead of finishing my next story.
In our last session, my shrink advised me to “Let your true self take the lead.” But afterward, I found my “ideal self” exhorting me to be a bit more productive. This would nudge me closer to my perfect picture of myself and reduce the conflict that always occurs when my slothful true self takes over.
So yesterday, I got up a little earlier than usual and set out in earnest to knock off every item on my ambitious to-do list. I drank a large glass of water while I emptied my email inbox. I sipped a cup of roasted black bean tea with ginger and honey while reading The New York Times from start to finish, plus articles of interest from the last two issues of the New Yorker, as well as a few from The Atlantic. (These publications always give me story ideas — energy food for my ideal self.)
Next, I had a half-hour online meeting to discuss consulting opportunities with a global PR agency representing a leading pharma company.
Then, I did my complete set of core exercises — chin-ups, crunches, pushups, dumbbell curls, and a four-minute plank.
After that, I had brunch and made progress writing a story I’m working on. When I was satisfied with my output, I headed out to Whole Foods for some groceries.
When I got back, I did an intense hour of cardio in the gym downstairs in our building. Then I did my 8 Pieces of Silk chi gong exercise and devoted 20 minutes to Tibetan Buddhist meditation.
I had a few minutes after that to sit down at my keyboard and play some electric piano and guitar before enjoying a delicious dish of spaghetti bolognese that my wife made for our dinner.
Finally, we watched my favorite NFL team, the Philadelphia Eagles, overcome bad play to narrowly defeat their Super Bowl LVII rivals, the Kansas City Chiefs, on Monday Night Football.
I then brushed my teeth and smiled at my Ideal Self in the bathroom mirror. Slept like a baby.
This morning, I got up a little later, went to the bathroom to brush my teeth, and looked at another face in the mirror. It was my True Self. And he was exhausted.
The other good thing about my shrink is that he always answers my emails. I told him what happened. “Our next session will be very interesting,” he said. “And for you, enlightening.”
Great. I hope my Ideal Self doesn’t kill me first.
