Willpower: A Shortage

Between attraction and avoidance there is a chasm. Wait – scratch that – a great yawning maw.


The best brawls I’ve ever enjoyed were with myself; the better angels of my nature at war with want and desire.


A friend posited that this inner battle was a cry from the psyche. Good News: it connotes emotional development. Bad News: that development’s arrested. Of course, my initial impulse was to argue; to throw the first punch of cathartic debate.


Theory: Fighting in relationships is healthy. It’s when you don’t care enough to argue that therein danger lies. One or both partners have mentally (if not physically) packed their bags. Disengagement is not a truce; it’s assaying the moat and deciding to swim.


But what if the fight is between you and yours…. Truly? Carrot stick rather than chocolate? Sale or savings? Sexy paramour vs. imminent deadline? Nicotine or not putting that in your pipe and smoking it? Whisky, neat, or milk (which can be surprisingly messy)?


Has temptation ever come upon you unawares, grabbed you by the throat, and shaken you to the very saltcellar of your soul (“We have seen the enemy -- and he is us”)?


Yes, me too!


Now, let us imagine a wicked hour, say, 3:17 a.m., the flotsam and jetsam of the subconscious mind awaiting to ambush the unwary with a bout of, a touch of, a flash of die-hard sleeplessness. What to do? One can consider Nietzsche’s “That which does not kill us makes us stronger,” and the cold comfort of asceticism.


Perhaps one ponders the situation by the pale light of a long night and its immense shadows, wondering: What is the definition of a “bout”? A “flash”? A “touch”? (No wonder you can’t rest!) Yet all around you, people slumber. You find yourself in PJs, illumined by the refrigerator’s wan bulb, wrangling with longing and logic.


All you wanted was a nice, micro-brewed, limited-edition beer, and just one hard pretzel, scant consolation for insomnia. But will the cure keep sleep at bay? And more to the point, will the want outweigh the guilt of second thoughts?


Fight!


And so you find yourself entangled in the web of self-awareness. Pretzel in hand, dropping salty crumbs, you search for a clean glass. Ever the pugilist, you pause, sip and consider.