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Who needs permission?

Not necessarily referring to “Permission to say ‘cock'” but permission to suck, as referenced in the article linked…here. I just get an inordinate amount of amusement from strong invective, especially as uttered by Top Gear’s own Captain Slow.

So, the other day I was kind of freaking out because I signed up for another of those ridiculous blogging challenges to post something every day, which, as anyone who ever looked at my archives would surmise, is not my strong suit. In fact, months and weeks can go by and I can ignore this website quite avidly. In fact, when I realized that Holidailies doesn’t even start until 12-1, I complacently went back to neglecting my blog. In even more fact, I toyed with not even posting this entry until tomorrow, so as to have something to talk about on Day 1, but another fact is that I’d probably forget what I was going to say by then. I guess I’ll call this Day Zero.

As the Mythbusters sometimes say, “failure is always an option.”

Hell, I’ve pretty much forgotten what I was going to say already. I swear I’m getting more idiotic every day. Is there such a thing as Adult-Onset A.D.D? I think somebody else is controlling my brainmeats and quite badly, I might add. Also-also, because I use the word “brainmeats” frequently and Spell Check doesn’t like it, I’ve added it to the custom dictionary.

I suppose I should return to the point I started to make a few hundred words ago. Accepting personal suckitude.

A few years ago a co-worker and I had a conversation about participating in mediocrity. She is a perfectionist; I am an ex-perfectionist. She was talking about being frustrated by a yoga class she was taking because she was not yet very good, and her competitive spirit was thoroughly vexed. I allowed as how I used to be that way, but mountain biking broke me of the will to succeed.

I am a terrible mountain biker. Seriously wretched. I wreck all the time, I am slow as hell, and you can rely upon me to take the wrong turn after I get separated from the group I started out with. Minor contusions and dented pride nonetheless, I thoroughly enjoy mountain biking, shitty at it though I am. I accept that I’ll probably always be crap because I don’t go very often, I’m blind in one eye, and I’m not that committed to improving. I guess just the general enjoyable experience that is riding offroad through the woods is reward unto itself. Sure, some people race, some people win, and some people are Danny McAskill. Those people are pretty awesome and I admire their skills and dedication. But that doesn’t mean that I feel any pressure to try to emulate them. I’d just as soon occasionally fall off the back of my bicycle on a steep descent, clip my bars on a branch and tank headfirst into a tree, or spend more time taking pictures of fungus than riding my bike and have fun in my own way. Via mountain biking, I learned that it’s very possible to have a good damn time while being no good at all.

Up tomorrow – more inspiration from the above-linked article questioning the whole meditation thing.

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