I mentally run through my checklist:
- Hair tied back – ✔️
- Shoes on – ✔️
- Legs doused in bug spray – ✔️
- Blue Ikea bag loaded – ✔️
- Garmin fēnix® set – ✔️
- AirPods in – ✔️
- Podcast queued up – ✔️
- House locked – ✔️
Perfect. I am all set for today’s quest.
As I go to hit play on my phone, the glowing horizon steals my attention. My brow wrinkles. Why it is so bright already? Sunrise shouldn’t be for another ten minutes, so why is the day already in full bloom? At this hour, I am supposed to catch the sun’s gentle emergence and not suffer in her full glory. Grumble.
Oh well, next time I will give her a greater berth and depart a tad earlier. Unfortunately, that will become more and more difficult as the sun is rising a minute earlier with each passing day.
I better get moving before her royal highness of heat brings her unmitigated strength to bear down on my soon-to-be wilting self. I click on the second half of Huberman Lab’s, “The Science of Setting & Achieving Goals,” heave my hefty Ikea tote over my shoulder, then press the start button on my trusty fitness watch, a sweet Garmin fēnix® that tracks my every vital sign, before scampering down my short, concrete driveway.
My pace slows as I hit the packed, dark mud of the rain-addled trail descending from my house. I choose my steps carefully, tightroping along the top of the long, deep ruts. I have traded in my in-town, pied-à-terre for a country estate replete with muck and insects. Well, estate may be a bit of an exaggeration. It’s a modest, raised house on a hill with a stunning, expansive view of lush, green trees that extend all the way to the sparkling blue waters of the Caribbean Sea. With its high ceilings, windows and wide-open vista, my home feels opulent in spirit if not in square footage.
Turning my attention to my reward for today’s expedition, I focus on the podcast running through my ears. Dr. Huberman is flushing out the concept of delayed discounting, i.e., the fact that goals become less rewarding the further out in the future they are. Hmm, I guess delayed satisfaction isn’t all its cracked up to be.
But I get that. It is hard to stay motivated and work towards long-term goals. Take fitness, for example. We know that we will feel better in the long run if we exercise regularly, but my goodness, it is so much easier to peruse the internet than get moving. In the moment, the mindless allure of our screens seems much more rewarding than good health and energy some time in the nebulous future.
I smile to myself, proud that I put fitness before sloth this morning, even though it is a by-product, and not the purpose, of today’s objective.
The leggy, dark berms I’ve been navigating finally dump into in a criss-cross of small mounds, which merge into the perpendicular ruts of a slightly wider and paler road with less loam and more sand. Picking my way over the valleys carved by numerous rainy seasons, I pass by a lone, tall, brown house on the right. Before long, a bright blue house on the corner marks the arrival of Pumpkin Hill Road, a broad swath of packed coral and biscuit-colored dirt that connects Pumpkin Hill Beach to the main artery that runs from Utila’s only town to the airport.
I turn left and saunter past a demure, round, white sign for Kanahau, a research and conservation organization dedicated to studying and preserving the endemic life on the island. I glance at my watch – three minutes. That’s not bad given the broken terrain. But what’s even better is that in a mere two minutes, I can shift this heavy bag to my other shoulder. Five right, five left, five right and so it goes. I figure it’s best to even out the workload so I don’t end up looking like a rightward-leaning hunchback. I am a life-long, bag-over-the-right-shoulder kind of gal so the lateral shift seems unnatural.
I keep my eyes on the road, picking out the smoothest path, avoiding the bigger chunks of coral. As I round the bend and amble past the grove of juvenile banana trees, I spy puddles. It must have rained last night. I had no idea. Very considerate of Mother Nature to water the plants and fill my cistern while we were all asleep. It must have been a short burst, otherwise the roads leading up to my place would have been a gnarly snarl of goo.
6:05 a.m. Time to shift my burden. I hook my left thumb under the thick blue straps to lighten the load on my shoulder and feel less awkward.
I check my pace: 3.4 miles per hour. I’m slacking. I am awake, caffeinated and have zero excuse for not putting in the effort. My goal is a steady 3.5 miles per hour. Surprisingly, upping my pace a mere a tenth of a mile per hour takes me from a stroll to a brisk walk, sending my heart solidly into Zone 2, a maintainable, yet slightly elevated, heart rate.
A kid in a light blue shirt carrying a machete approaches. It’s Sunday, and he is probably off to work. “Buenos tardes,” I wish him a good morning. He smiles and continues down the road. Shortly thereafter a motorcycle whizzes by, followed by a yumbo, the main vehicle used here to haul small loads, comprised of a motorcycle chassis attached to a truck bed. Apparently, I am not the only one out at day break. The island is abuzz early no matter what day of the week. Mornings are the least hot and best times to accomplish goals.
6:10 a.m. Time to switch sides. The sun has officially risen, but I can’t tell the difference. The sky looks the same to me as it did ten minutes earlier – a swath of pink-capped, billowy clouds dominating the horizon above the trees.
Hmm, why are the clouds such a pretty shade of pink? Let me think. Light has to travel farther through the atmosphere at dawn and dusk, which causes the shorter wavelengths of sunlight to scatter, e.g., the blues, before they get to us, leaving a higher portion of longer wavelengths, the reds and yellows. Maybe pink is what happens when red light glows through a white cloud. It certainly is picturesque.
But my mind digresses!
What is Huberman discussing now?
Focus, Sandra, focus. That’s probably another reason future goals suffer from delayed discounting – the present dominates our thoughts, causing our attention to wander to whatever we are experiencing in the moment, like fluffy, pink clouds. Gasp.
Oh, he is saying something about foreshadowing failure – visualizing what it would be like to fail to achieve one’s goals – which should be much more motivating than picturing success. Now that turns a lot of pop-culture advice on its head. “Visualize it, and it will come” apparently is not a scientifically proven way to reach your goals. I wonder if imagining dirty dishes waiting for me in the morning would be more motivating than conjuring a clean kitchen? I have to give that a try. It certainly can’t hurt.
I am tempted to pull out my phone and rewind a bit, but I don’t want to break my stride. Uggh, I need to learn how to operate these AirPods. It would be mondo convenient to be able to control my audio with a quick tap of my finger.
Last week, I started an AirPods Pro YouTube tutorial but clicked off at the beginning when I realized my phone didn’t have the capabilities the YouTuber’s did. My old iPhone 6 Plus has long been consigned to the dust bin of old operating systems, so its AirPod app is missing nearly all of the nifty features the guy was touting. I know it is time to get a new phone, but with all the costs of buying a new house, it will have to wait.
Another yumbo bounces by, reminding me to check the time and pace: 6:15 a.m., 3.5 mph. I grin, chuffed that my meandering musings haven’t slowed my tempo and, more importantly, that this is the last switch of this burdensome bag. It seems a lot heavier than before. Wonder why? Probably because it’s already been four days since the last time I did this. Time flies when you live in paradise.
I take a big breath of air in, anticipating my final, five-minute sprint and nearly step on a millipede crossing my path. It is probably the tenth I have seen on the road this morning. These little, leggy arthropods are out in force today. Guess they like to be underway before the sweltering sun scorches the earth, too.
Suddenly, it dawns on me – I haven’t devolved into a puddle of sweat! The air is still fresh and cool in my lungs. I did not leave too late. I can still breathe! Oh, the joys of winter! The first hour of the day is heavenly – the perfect balance between cool and hot. If only the rest of the day would build upon such an auspicious beginning.
My legs find a new-found springiness as I realize my goal is imminent. In a matter of a few short minutes, I will have reached my destination: the whole purpose of today’s quest. Most definitely, a fine start to a Sunday morning.
I round the last curve, avoiding the long puddles that seem to persist here even when the rest of the road is dry. I know this will change once the rainy season gives way to spring and the tolerable morning heat morphs into a hellish sauna. Sigh. At least perdition is still a month way.
Lo and behold, ahead on the right, I see my reward for this twenty minute walk, a sparkling prize shimmering in the sun’s early rays. There it is, a brilliant-blue barrel perched skyward next to a faded-blue one, both flanked by a pile of cartons. I inhale deeply, relishing the sight.
My pace slows as I approach. I notice a black bag peaking above the brighter barrel before my eyes are drawn to the vivid, yellow Dip Shipping stickers on the saggy boxes. Must be Americans moving in, sending needed supplies from the States through their freight forwarder. Thinking of Dip Shipping, I wonder whether they found the top to my dining room table yet. I have four very pretty, but totally useless table legs waiting for their crown – a peril of expatriation, boxes from the homeland lost in transit. Something to follow up on tomorrow. Again.
I pull the hefty, black, knotted bag out of my Ikea tote and drop it into the less full, pale-blue bin with a flourish. I turn on my heels, a bounce in my step.
I have accomplished my mission: I have taken out the trash.
Now, just a little matter of that twenty minute journey back . . . Well, at least I have Dr. Huberman to keep me company. Maybe I will even learn how to be more successful in accomplishing my goals. Does taking out the trash count?
© Sandra Y. K. Loder 2022
Originally published March 6, 2022
