In 2014, comedian, musician, podcaster and Nashvillian Chris Crofton asked the Scene for an advice column, so we gave him one. Crowning himself the “Advice King,” Crofton shares his hard-won wisdom with whoever seeks it. Follow Crofton on Twitter and Instagram (@thecroftonshow), and check out his The Advice King Anthology and Cold Brew Got Me Like podcast. To submit a question for the Advice King, email bestofbread@gmail.com.
Dear Advice King,
How do I motivate myself to do things I hate? Like, for example, working out.
—Jenn in the Mojave Desert
Chris Crofton
HA! Perfect question, Jenn, considering I’m up at 1:45 a.m. on a Tuesday night, finally starting on a column that I could have written 10 days ago, nine days ago, eight days ago — or three hours ago. I don’t hate writing these columns, though. Once I get started I really enjoy it. The thing I hate is the wild, odd period between when I tell myself I’m going to start writing, and when I actually start writing. It usually lasts about five hours. I beat myself up during that time. I say stuff to myself like, “You are an idiot, Chris.” And, “Why didn’t you start writing yet, Chris? Are you an idiot?” Or, “It’s 11 p.m. now, Chris. That’s much, much later than when you planned to start writing. Remember, you idiot?”
You probably noticed that I just described that time when I’m supposed to be writing but am not as “wild” and “odd.” You may be wondering what I meant by that.
What I meant was, the kind of stuff people do while they are putting off doing something is so diverse — and pointless — that it can border on the avant garde. The things I did during the past five hours of procrastinating, taken out of context, could pass as 1960s or ’70s performance art. I stood in the kitchen in my underwear and ate, um, a FEW popsicles. I watched 90 minutes of people excavating old outhouses on YouTube. I trimmed my chest hair, and dreamed of my youth in Bavaria. AND I’M NOT FROM BAVARIA.
I didn’t put honey and gold leaf on my head and explain pictures to a dead hare, like Joseph Beuys did in 1965, or get crucified on a Volkswagen Beetle like Chris Burden did in 1974, but I do think it’s possible that both of those men had an advice column due the next day. They also could have been avoiding the gym.
I’m listening to Gordon Lightfoot, by the way. “Old Dan’s Records” is playing. I like Gordon Lightfoot so much that even this song has grown on me, and it’s one of his all-time worst. Gordon was married three times. I bet his first two wives didn’t know about “Old Dan’s Records” when they married him, and they left as soon as they heard it. His third wife stayed with him in spite of “Old Dan’s Records.” True love.
What was the question?
Oh, yes. The gym. Do you actually hate the gym, Jenn? Or do you just have trouble getting out of the house? If you hate the gym, I recommend exercising at home. If you hate exercising, start small. Walk around the block — or walk around HALF the block. Do some stretching on the floor while you watch people excavate old outhouses on YouTube. Light one of those candles that smells nice. (Not intended as an outhouse joke, but a perfectly good outhouse joke.) Invite a friend over, and stretch together. Put on a good podcast — like mine! Invite that same friend to go to the gym with you, so it won’t seem so much like “YOU vs. YOUR NEMESIS, the gym” — it’ll be the two of you against the gym. Maybe reward yourselves with a glass of wine afterward.
And if you never make it to the gym, and you set a deadline, and you missed it by five hours — and you did odd, wild shit instead — try not to be too hard on yourself. You’re a performance artist, after all.
