A few weeks ago, I, a righty, picked up my toothbrush with my left hand. Over a year ago, I noticed something in The Great Gatsby. And the two are connected. Towards the very end of Fitzgerald’s famous novel, there is an excerpt from a journal entry of Gatsby’s in which he lays out a plan for his own self-improvement, the beginnings to his own path up the social ladder. These steps were a driving force in Gatsby’s life, maximizing in him the human need to continually adapt and improve. The entire essence of Gatsby is captured in this journal excerpt, and it was included as part of the novel for a reason. But as I read through the phrases, which were meant to seem extreme and representative only of a character whose dissatisfaction so terribly drove their actions as Gatsby, I couldn’t help but catch a twinge of familiarity for a life I knew quite well: my own.
Stagnancy has driven me to my limits. The lowest points in my life have been those where any factor has stayed constant for too long. I spiral into unproductive boredom when I don’t leave my house for too many days; I rarely can even finish watching a TV show or movie without yearning to escape its grasp. I may have commitment issues, but really I think I have an undying need to change and grow.
This need has manifested itself in endless schedules. It began in elementary school, when I would make schedules for not only myself, but my entire family, marking precisely when we would open the door to leave for school. But it continued long after that. Schedules for running errands, doing school work, after school activities, and so many others filled notepads. The need to regulate, discipline, and improve myself has driven me to fit into these blocks of time. I need some challenge to work towards. I choose to make my life more difficult constantly, in little ways and large ones, to keep myself busy. I switched schools in the middle of the school year partly just to give myself a challenge, to make my life more interesting, to keep my brain distracted. I need something, whether it is a schedule of items to complete or a major life shift, to keep me on my toes. But right now, in a world that seems to be nearly crumbling, it just seems strikingly irrelevant to work on doing more pushups today than yesterday.
But then, in the endless chasm that is YouTube, I saw someone suggest brushing your teeth with your non-dominant hand to supposedly use both sides of your brain. It woke something inside of me. It was a challenge; it was a small, but frequently recurring action that I could learn. So, that night, I tried it. As my fingers on my left hand felt out of place and my other hand idled awkwardly, I smiled. For the first time in a while, I felt like I was doing something with my life. I felt productive, and even though what I did was tiny, it felt monumental. I fell asleep a little bit more easily that night, woke up with just a twinge more motivation. Sometimes all it takes is a little tap to knock a whole subway line of dominoes into motion.
An obsession with self-improvement or -discipline can be dangerous and selfish, as in Gatsby’s case, but I’ve found that in moderation these ideas are the oil for my internal gears, turning in order to contribute to the betterment of myself and the world. Perhaps Gatsby just had the wrong goals.
