Three things my all-or-nothing attitude prevents me from doing

Something I've never liked about myself is my inability to be OK with "OK."

Meaning, if I can't do something perfectly, I don't want to do it at all.

Sometimes this works to my benefit as I push myself to accomplish a difficult task or reach a high level of proficiency in a challenging skill.

More often than not, though, it means giving up early and not at least achieving something simply because I'm disappointed I can't do it exactly right the first time. Which isn't so good.

This approach has cost me in a lot of ways, but here are three in particular:

(1) Consistently eating well: Ever since I started going to the gym, my exercise habits have been great. I've built muscle through weightlifting and have improved my cardiovascular health and endurance by getting my heartbeat up (sometimes way up) several times a week. But diet is more important than exercise when it comes to long-term health, and I find that if I eat something that makes it more likely I'm going to blow my calorie budget, I just give in and eat whatever I want the rest of the day. "I'm going to miss my target, so I might as well eat a whole cake," is the way I end up looking at things.

(2) Being productive at work: I set myself a pretty ambitious to-do list on work days. Most of the time I accomplish it, but when I realize I'm not quite going to get to everything because of an unexpected circumstance or a long meeting, my motivation plummets. Can't finish the list? Well, I guess I'm going to stand here in my office paralyzed rather than accomplishing at least a portion of it. I can't explain why I'm like this.

(3) Trying new things: I often joke about how bad I am at fixing things and thinking mechanically, but that doesn't mean I shouldn't at least try to learn a few things. Yet I don't, because in my mind, since I can never be a master carpenter, there's no point in even making any attempt. Which I know is stupid, but that's me.

Maybe I can figure out how not to be like this before I get to my late 50s, but chances are I can never fully change, so....say it with me...why bother?

Revisiting the decade when you grew up...warts and all

 

Howard Jones playing a quintessentially 80s instrument (the "keytar") on August 31 in Cleveland.

Several weeks ago, my nephew Mark and I took in an evening of live 80s music at Cleveland's Masonic Auditorium that was every bit as fun and enjoyable as I thought it would be.

It was also a long show, or at least it felt that way to me. Three bands performed (Howard Jones, ABC and Haircut 100), and the changeout between each act took more time than I would have anticipated. While Howard was the headliner in my eyes, ABC played a deservedly long set as the middle act that helped push the whole event to nearly 4 hours in length.

The crowd, by the way, was exactly what you think it would be: Heavily older Gen X, with most people in their 50s and early 60s. At a spritely 49, Mark was one of the youngest people in attendance.

These nostalgia tours are lucrative affairs. People love to hear the music of their youth, and they especially like to see the musicians who created that music performing it live. It makes them feel like they themselves aren't quite as old as their bodies might otherwise suggest.

I loved the 80s, but that's probably because I went from being 10 years old when the decade started to 20 when it ended. That's a memorable time in anyone's life.

To be fair, 80s music and fashion (and politics) aren't everyone's cup of tea.

There isn't a single perfect era in history. When oldsters long for "the simpler time" of their formative years, they usually whitewash the bad stuff that went on then. That's just human nature.

Mark and I had a lot of fun at that 80s-heavy concert, and while there was a certain cheesiness to the whole thing (it's difficult to pull off the rocker persona when you're pushing 70 years old), by the end of the night I decided that was OK. I was there with Mark, with whom I've been attending concerts since 1988, and we were loving virtually every song that was played.

We enjoyed it in the moment, and we enjoyed the way it took us back to a time when we were both considerably younger.

Which is more than enough. I'll continue listening to long-forgotten 80s music until the day I die.

Rock on!

Before I knew it, I was a gum chewer

At some point in the last 10 years, I started chewing gum.

Not all the time, mind you. And mostly only in the car.

But by any definition, I am a frequent consumer of chewing gum.

My brand of choice is Wrigley's 5 Gum Peppermint Cobalt Sugar-Free. The mint is intense (which I love), the flavor lasts a long time (which I really love), and it comes in packs of 15, so it keeps me supplied longer than those old 5-stick packs my mom used to carry in her purse.

The only problem with this habit is that my car perpetually smells faintly like a peppermint oil factory. Most of those who ride with me don't care, but my wife does.

Terry does not particularly like mint. And she certainly does not like the smell of mint in the closed confines of a car.

She refers to my Honda Civic as "the Mint Mobile."

The only thing I can do is try not to chew any gum in the car if I know she's going to occupy the passenger seat in the near future. Even then, I don't know that the fragrance ever really goes away.

The other pitfall of being a gum chewer is becoming an obnoxious gum chewer. Someone who chews loudly and proudly. Someone who chomps their way through every conversation. Someone who must have a stick of gum in their mouth at all times.

I try desperately to avoid being that guy.

I figure, worst comes to worst, I will one day blow up like a blueberry à la Violet Beauregarde in the original "Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory" as punishment for my gum-related sins. Only instead of dejuicing me, the Oompa Loompas will allow me to explode in a mess of blueberry debris and sticky peppermint gum residue.

As far as my longsuffering wife is concerned, it will be a fair punishment.

Getting to the bottom of this obnoxiously large 1-gallon water jug every day

I am not, by nature, a water drinker. I drink it at the gym in the morning, but after that, it's usually coffee or nothing at all.

I realize this is not a healthy approach to fluid intake, though, so lately I've been trying to up my water consumption by purchasing the big ol' water bottle you see above. I was inspired by my daughter Chloe and my son Jack, both of whom have similarly large H2O containers from which they drink consistently.

This isn't the first time I've tried to take in more water. My inconsistent attempts at becoming more like my dad (who drank water and beer in equally prodigious quantities) stretch back more than 30 years.

When I was marathon training in 2001, for example, I drank a lot of water because I had to in order to keep my body properly hydrated for running dozens of miles a week. The second I crossed the finish line, though, my water drinking plummeted immediately to pre-training levels.

It's not that I don't like water. It's just not a particularly attractive option for me. It's just...you know, water. I can take it or leave it.

Again, though, I understand the health benefits of proper hydration, so I'm giving it another go by setting for myself the daily goal of filling Jumbo the Water Jug and drinking its entire contents. It takes a concerted effort, but I've been doing it.

The inevitable and wholly predictable result, of course, has been an alarming rise in bathroom trips. I have already worn out a path to the men's room at the office. Supposedly your body eventually adjusts to ingesting higher quantities of fluid, but so far my body's only response has been, "Stop drinking so much or else we're going to spend the rest of your life seeking out restrooms."

Actually, finding restrooms has been high on my daily agenda ever since I hit my mid-40s. So that part isn't new.

What is new, however, is the impressive level of bladder control I have developed during work meetings. No longer do I have to rush directly from conference rooms immediately to the nearest urinal.

These days it's more of a controlled trot.

Your kids really are listening...even to the music you play for them

 

Recently, my son Jared texted with this request:

"Can you make a playlist of the songs you played in the van circa 2002? Trying to recall but can't remember some."

When I used to drive the kids around in our Dodge Grand Caravan, I would play for them a range of older music, some of which they would sing along to. At the time I didn't give it much thought, but now I realize those minivan singalongs are probably the stuff of fun childhood memories for them.

Fortunately I didn't have to do too much work because I remembered my daughter Chloe had already made such a playlist, which she dubbed "scott's minivan." I asked her to send it to me (see the screenshot above), and I in turn forwarded it to Jared.

He and I agreed that with only one or two exceptions, Chloe had pretty much nailed the songs in heaviest rotation on family road trips back in those days.

In alphabetical order, these were the tunes on the playlist:

• Brown-Eyed Girl - Van Morrison
• Copacabana - Barry Manilow (OK, OK...a guilty pleasure)
• Every Little Thing She Does Is Magic - The Police
• Jackie Wilson Said - Van Morrison
• Jump - Van Halen
• Love Shack - The B-52s
• Low Rider - War
• Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds - The Beatles
• Mack the Knife - as covered by Sting (an odd pick, but so catchy)
• Maneater - Hall & Oates
• Ob-La-Di, Ob-La-Da - The Beatles
• The Reflex - Duran Duran
• Road Man - Smash Mouth
• Roxanne - The Police
• When Doves Cry - Prince
• Ya (Rest in Peace) - Colin Hay
• You Make My Dreams Come True - Hall & Oates

The list largely reflects my penchant for the music of the 60s, 70s and 80s, but more importantly, these are songs with strong melodies and, in many cases, fun choruses with which even little kids could sing along.

Sometimes we wonder whether the things we tell our kids really stick with them. My answer is that, heck, if Barry Manilow stays in their heads, your important bits of parental advice have to have gained a foothold in their little brains somewhere.

Today is Sting's birthday. Here are three things he has taught me.

Happy 73rd birthday to the man Stewart Copeland calls "Stingo."

I should clarify that, while I did actually meet Gordon Matthew Sumner (a.k.a., Sting) many years ago, he has not personally taught me anything. We are not friends, which is unsurprising considering he is an international pop superstar and multimillionaire while I am a suburban dad who gets excited when I have $10 in my wallet.

What I mean is, as a fan of Mr. Sting's music for more than 40 years, I have learned a thing or two while watching him from afar. Or a thing or three, I guess, because there are three items on this list.

To wit:

(1) Make room for surprise in your life

Sting has said that, to him, the essence of all music is surprise. If he is not surprised in some way within the first 8 bars of a new song, he isn't likely to listen any further. It's why his own songs often use unorthodox time signatures or unexpected melodies. In a broader, non-musical sense, people like me – people who make lengthy to-do lists and like to plan their days down to the last detail – probably need to loosen up a bit and allow the universe to surprise them every once in a while. While meticulous planning gives you control, it also sucks away some of the joy of spontaneity. As I get older, I realize that life can't wait to surprise you, if only you will let it.

(2) You will never reach the point where you no longer need to practice your craft, whatever it is

Sting practices music every day. He plays complicated Bach sonatas. He studies intricately written pieces. He runs through rudimentary drills on his guitar. This is a 73-year-old, multi-Grammy-winning musician who still practices constantly, even on days when he doesn't especially feel like it. In any endeavor, being willing to sacrifice in the name of self-improvement is the one key to success we sometimes don't want to talk about.

(3) Take risks, and be willing to live with the consequences

Sting left one of the biggest bands in the world to embark on a solo career in 1985. He recruited young black jazz musicians to help him make a debut album that in many ways was nothing like the albums he had made with The Police. The fact that that album went on to sell millions of copies, while nice for Sting, wasn't the point. The point was that he followed his passions and made the music he wanted to make. Not the music he necessarily thought others wanted him to make. Throughout his career, this approach has sometimes produced commercial and artistic success, and other times has produced neither. Regardless, he has followed his gut and done what his heart told him to do. That's not nearly as easy as it sounds, but it's one heck of an approach to life.

Sleeping in until 6:00am is suddenly one of my favorite parts of the week

I know a few people will read that headline and ask, "Since when is 6:00am sleeping in?"

And you're right. For most, a 6:00am wake-up time isn't exactly an indulgence.

But I am, and for most of my life have been, an early riser. Not because I've had to do it for work or anything, but mostly because I love getting a head start on the day.

Since I began going to the gym five mornings a week, I've been getting out of bed around 4:45am. I like to make it to Ohio Sports & Fitness just ahead of what I call The 5:30 Crew, which is a small but dedicated contingent of fellow pre-dawn exercisers.

Whenever I have a session with my trainer Kirk, I stay in bed until 5:15, since he and I don't meet up until 6:00am anyway.

But on those two rest days a week, I get lazy and sleep all the way until the big hand on the clock points straight up and the little hand points straight down.

Scandalous!

I could probably stay in bed even longer, but my body is always ready and raring to go by 6:00. Plus I really have to pee by that point, so there's no use fighting it.

Still, I can't tell you how much I enjoy those "sleep-in" days. I always feel like I've earned them after three or four days in a row of early gym-going, then scrambling to come home, shower, change and head to the office for a full day of work.

I should point out that in order to get a decent amount of rest, I'll sometimes ingest a couple of 5mg melatonin gummies the night before. I recently blogged about how I need to have my wife in the room in order to fall asleep, but the gummies have changed that situation drastically.

Now I rarely even notice when she comes to bed, that's how deeply asleep I am.

Interestingly – and don't ask me why I remember the exact date, I just do – I got almost no sleep 28 years ago last night because I was so worried about starting a new job the next day at a company called Self-Funded Plans. That sort of anxiety-induced insomnia used to hit me several times a year.

But these days? Never. My heads hits the pillow, and within a couple of minutes I'm out.

I wake up when it's technically still night time, of course, but there's always those 6:00am sleep-in days to make me feel like I'm living a life of luxury.