I would be in the gym 6 days a week. I tracked every bite of carefully portioned food, measured every macro. I was meditating daily. I was walking 15 thousand steps a day. I was becoming a better, healthier me. Right?
Then I would step outside and light up a cigarette.
Who was I kidding.
If I wanted a longer and healthier life, I needed to cut the cancer sticks. Soon enough it became a joke – all that effort only to light one up and chase it down with a cheap beer. I don’t know if it was the voice of a god or the good angel on my shoulder, but something whispered in my ear: “Who am I kidding?”
That question hit home. I had no excuses left, it was time to take the most important step of my health journey.
It sucked. It sucked a lot. But on January 21, 2014, in an airport in Germany, I had my very last cigarette.
Who am I kidding?
This mantra would sit idle in the back of my mind, a dormant voice waiting for just the right moment. Like when I decided to become a bitcoin billionaire while still straddled with credit card debt (glad the voice kicked in there). Or when I thought supplements and gadgets would save my sleep when I hadn’t dusted the bedroom in months (if you can’t breathe, you can’t sleep). Who was I kidding?
Life is riddled with bad investments that could have been avoided with a well timed dose of common sense. So every time I go off on an adventure, just before dropping c-notes on whatever sexy piece of gear or course or new pill on the market, I look for the disciple to stop and ask, “Who am I kidding?”
Also published on Medium.
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