Discipline, Schmitzapline!

The professor who created the 100 Day Challenge talks, on a website, about the perplexing and challenging combination of creative freedom and discipline that an artist must have to succeed. That word—discipline—has always given me pause. What IS discipline? 

It means so many things. It has a negative connotation when used as a verb, to discipline someone. The military usage of the word brings images to mind a frowning sergeant yelling profanities and insults at lines of troops, young men and women being trained to obey orders and not think for themselves.

In seeking out a business mentor many years ago, I sat down with a retired businessman who happened to be the father of a high school classmate. “Your problem is you lack discipline,” he said. I recoiled in pain. Per stupid childhood training, I didn’t ask him what he meant. Instead, I stopped seeking his support and let that statement knock and bounce about and bruise inside my head.

It didn’t make sense. Even by then, I had written and published multiple books of my own. And created biography and history books for clients in the double digits. I finish my projects. I complete books. How can you say I lack discipline? 

But still it made me angry. And tapped old insecurities. Do I lack discipline? I certainly can get distracted. I’m a dreamer. I love to live in my imagination. With so many pursuits and pleasures, like singing and dancing, I can take on too much. I don’t do daily routine easily.

So, I sought out a better definition of discipline and found one on another website that I could live with: Discipline is doing what you love even when you don’t feel like it. 

 Among the Webster definitions is: “a system of rules of conduct” (n.) or “training oneself to do something in a controlled and habitual way.”

I appreciate ritual. I understand the value of routines—And—I’ve always really enjoyed breaking them. A few years ago, I was able to finish the first draft of a young adult novel by getting up at 5:30am or so each day to write before work. But there were consequences: A loss of connection with my husband, a night owl, since I was in bed by 9pm most nights. And the hardest part—that remains true—is that when I start writing fiction first thing in the morning (I’m a morning person and at my freshest), it’s ALL I WANT TO DO. Even setting an alarm, I want to keep writing. If I don’t set an alarm, it’s three hours later, and I haven’t gotten my production hours in for work yet. And I’m resentful that I can’t just keep going.

As a matter of fact, my fifteen-minute alarm just went off. And I’m still writing. 

But I want to finish this line of thought—for now. And that’s important too.

The other day I was discussing this fear that I lack discipline with someone. She said, “I don’t think you’re talking about discipline. It sounds more like what you mean is persistence.” 

Yes, I thought. Persistence is something I actually want. Discipline, no. I don’t like to “obey.” Discipline sounds boring and rigid. I love a good solid structure. Boundaries. But discipline—the word just doesn’t sound like me. 

When I was a high school teacher, starting when I was only 23 years old—five years older than my seniors; how crazy is that—I wasn’t able to control my classroom until I took a management course called Discipline with Dignity. I was SO afraid, in my naivety, that I would have to be that grumbling sergeant in order to command the room. But the class, with a wonderful upbeat instructor, taught me I could manage from a place of love and caring. Hey, I can do that! Fair, firm and consistent were his words. Firm and consistent were harder. I was brought up—unfortunately—to be passive and subservient, something I’ve worked very hard to uneducate about myself. But with practice, I got better from this imposed illness. I get better all the time.

And there it is. Practice is about persistence, more than it’s about routine. Maybe it doesn’t have to be about the same time, place, lighting, or position each day. I greatly appreciate people who can create and fall into such routines. But, that’s just never worked for ME. What I think I finally understand is that my brand of persistence—a.k.a. discipline—doesn’t have to look like any prescribed model or what other people do. It just has to work for me.

So, imperfectly, I have embarked on this 100 Day Challenge. Because I want to write WHATEVER I want to write (You must choose a focus, the experts say. Hell with that.), whenever it works to write it, for approximately 15 minutes, and share it with others (on whatever social media I have time to get it on), but for sure every day. THAT sounds exciting and fun! 

 I honestly don’t care what discipline means anymore.