Have you ever had a an extremely long, completely made-up, primarily one-sided conversation with someone you’ve never met with the entire discussion itself taking place exclusively inside your head? Of course you have. I damn well better not be the only one.
In the past I’ve had emotional heart-to-hearts with a mother I never knew. Arguments with people about things that never occurred. Even had lunch dates with celebrities I’ll never meet.
And I’m not talking about re-hashing old conversations; replaying earlier encounters in our minds wishing we had said something different in the moment. We all do that.
“Yeah? Well. I don’t care if you’re my supervisor or not. You can go screw yourself in three different places!” when you really should have said: “Sure. I’ll go over those reports again, ma’am. It would be my pleasure.”
That’s not where I’m going with this.
Aaand I’m talking to myself… (memegenerator.net)
Trust me when I say this: I am not a personal trainer. While I may not be the last person you would want advice from on fitness, I certainly wouldn’t make anyone’s Top 100 list either.
Yet here I was, figuratively of course, asking this woman (yes, it was a woman – about late 40’s, overweight but not obese, married, a mom, with a full time job…) a lot of questions about her lifestyle:
- What’s your schedule from the time you get up in the morning to when you go to sleep at night?
- How long is your commute to work? (Does you listen to books-on-tape, podcasts, the radio or is someone with you for conversation?)
- Have you tried random diets in the past?
- What’s your main goal for seeking a personal trainer?
- What sort of support does your family provide with your fitness goals?
Trust me, there were a lot more questions than that. And with just about every question, I provided examples from my own life admitting my own flaws, cravings, shortcomings, etc. as well as a few positives and success stories.
Yet I have to wonder – and I guess the purpose of this blog – how or perhaps why I had this little powwow in the first place. Why do we do this to ourselves? Is there a reason for it?
Other than early-onset Alzheimer’s, is there an explanation as why I had a conversation that will never happen with a fictional person about topics I know little about?
Oh. And for the record: I’m not crazy. At least that’s what I told myself last week in which I received complete confirmation from a doctor I hope to never meet.
