Those Steep Old Ruts

Old habits die hard. They’re like ruts gouged out by knobby tires designed to dig into the soft clay of the unconscious.

That’s why there’s quite a distinction between those that drive on tarmac and those that drive on dirt. A dirt track, contrary to the asphalt, is an ever-changing circuit. Each run is etched in its surface, until it bears the scars of all who passed, like the favorite oak of deer. Steering is unreliable, so one must turn with commitment and intention, long before it is due. Each mistake only reinforces the one before it, and soon you can find yourself on the same narrow path as before.

The problem with ruts is they get deeper with frequency and time. Each one is engraved into existence — deep and influential but certainly not the fastest way through. Just the most convenient. A pass exposes the damp clay to the air, hardening it, and making an unfortunate habit out of a mistake. There are gentle hills on the edges, inviting into the mystery beyond their doughy crests. The edges are deceptively soft, and give way with weight into the steep walls of the trench that lead into its hardened bank. One can’t be blamed, as they’re so easy to fall into. Simply teeter at the edge and gravity pulls you in, forcing you through something all too familiar.

Blazing a new trail through is much more difficult. You’ll have to cross over old habits, in slow, arduous and unsteady progress. In time the new groove will harden, baring the same depth and influence as the one before it, and slicing through the bad ones. But fresh efforts are still soft, and until it hardens with frequency and time, one is still as susceptible to the old inviting habits. For the mean time, vigilance and persistence will have to pay off. At least until the air dries the soft clay.