I'm neurotic. I mean, in the layman's sense of the word.
I bounce my leg against the table. I chomp off my fingernails.
In short, I fidget. You sit next to me and you feel like
you're in the company of a 5-year-old.
I call these expressions of my neurosis habits. Engaging
in them makes me feel better. While sitting at the computer,
I'm sure that twirling my hair generates creative thoughts.
The trouble is, these tiny pleasures can cause, well,
problems--the most detrimental being that when you practice
them, people stop noticing you. They notice only your
habit.
I will graduate from college this spring, and I will
have to find a job. I'm sure that when presented with
two equally competent candidates, any sensible employer
will choose the one who isn't cracking her knuckles and
twitching like a Mexican jumping bean during the nerve-wracking
interview. So I set out to conquer my distracting tendencies.
If you've ever picked a hangnail till your finger bled
or decimated your eyebrows hair by hair, read on.
In my long history of habits, I've experienced a few
catastrophes. There was the time in 11th-grade American
history when, while absorbed in a lecture about Gettysburg,
I obliviously munched away on a Bic. Unbeknownst to me,
I gnawed a bit farther down than usual and realized this
only after my best friend turned around to pass me a note
and exploded with laughter. Ink from my Bic had burst
all over my face.
The most disfiguring result of a habit is the damage
I've exacted on my right thumbnail. In fourth grade, I
learned to peel back the front of this nail, layer by
layer, until, after a year of this picking, I formed a
permanent dent such as you might suffer after a fierce
encounter with a hammer. Many a manicurist has cast a
disdainful glance at this mess and voiced her disgust:
"Gross!"
Most recently, I've found a new favorite trick. Upon
graduating from high school, my parents bestowed on me
a ring that holds great sentimental value. Some time after
receiving this ring, I began to take it off and flip it
around on my fingers from tip to tip, placing myself in
great danger of losing the ring.
In fact, I have. Twice, I dropped it down the heating
vent in my house, and thus twice, with spelunking light
strapped to my head and about 18 different screwdrivers
in hand, I had to venture down to dismantle the central
heating unit. I emerged, cloaked in dust bunnies but,
luckily, victorious both times. After the second time,
I swore never to do it again.
Not long after that little incident, however, I was dining
on sushi at Saburo's. Cavalier as usual, I swung my ring
from finger to finger while slurping miso soup. Suddenly,
my ring was on the floor and rolling. Panic-stricken,
I watched it slow down and come to rest directly under
the chair of my neighbor. I leapt from my seat and made
my way under his table on hands and knees.
I've read that one is by definition an alcoholic when
alcohol begins to interfere with one's life. I realized,
ass in air and dining partner thoroughly chagrined, that
this habit had to stop.
And so I began my mission to break it. My first tactic
involved a rubber band and a string. It was complicated,
but it came down to tying one end of the string to the
ring and the other to the rubber band, which was strapped
across my hand. At first this seemed to be working. Aside
from the strange looks clerks gave me when handing back
change, there were no side effects. And I was fully restrained.
After one week, I removed the rubber band and felt fine
for the first five minutes. Yet the moment I began to
think about something else, I looked down only to find
myself friskily flipping.
I decided to break out the books. Among the most useful
volume I found is one designed for students of psychology
by David L. Watson called Self-Directed Behavior: Self-Modification
for Personal Adjustment. After gleaning the book's
essentials, I developed this basic plan. (Note that it's
four steps, not 12.)
1 COUNT THE WAYS.
List the pros and cons. I had rationalized that distracting
as the ring- flipping was, it kept me from disfiguring other
parts of my body. But the threat of permanently losing my
ring won out.
2 BECOME BRIDGET JONES.
Be a kid again and record your progress. Every time
I noticed myself flipping, I made a check in my furry,
leopard-print diary and wrote down my current state of
mind. At the end of my trial, I re-read the diary and
realized what kind of feelings caused me to twitch.
3 EXPECT TO FUCK UP.
You eat one chocolate cookie and you might as well
eat the whole wedding cake? The truth is, when it comes
to breaking habits, it is completely expected that one
might relapse. Don't give up, even if you give in.
4 GIVE YOURSELF A GOLD STAR.
This one can be embarrassing to reveal to others,
even if you're proud of your progress, but incentive is
essential. For me, the indulgences came in the form of
Cherry Garcia ice cream and extra sleep. Remember that
everyone has these little rewards; not everyone admits
what they are.
After one month of strict planning and record keeping,
my ring rests safely on my finger and I walk past heating
vents with confidence.
Just one problem remains. As I sit here, my right hand
types and my left wanders up to my ear, where it snaps
the back of my earring on and off. This, of course, causes
me to lose the backs. I've now depleted my reserve of
backs from other earrings and have moved on to a trusty
substitute: pencil erasers.
