As a dental hygienist, the second thing my grandma would often say to me after “Hello” was, “You haven’t been flossing, have you?”
Well, I’m finally flossing, though truthfully not at her behest. My rededication to dental health has far more to do with some advice I received last summer than my Grandmother’s insistence or a New Year’s resolution. It has to do with habit, one of many that I’m working to form.
If I told you that to maintain a close relationship with a friend from your freshmen dorm you had to meet with them once a month, you probably wouldn’t call me crazy. Maybe you’d even take it as some wise advice. I know I’d even go so far as to strike the agreement, vowing to meet once a month.
But then a midterm comes up, or a party, or the Carolina game. Suddenly after meeting only once over five months, the five minute run-ins at the Bryan Center stand as the only way to catch up, and a time to reaffirm your commitment to meeting at least once a month.
The case might be a little extreme, but it certainly illustrates the point. It’s always easier to say you’re going to do something than to actually do it. Life usually interrupts the following through, and that’s frustrating.
That’s where the power of habit comes in, and it’s something achieved by nothing more than a decision.
Advice so simple rarely proves to be wrong. The decision to actively form the habits you want to form is a powerful one—something that, in reference to Coach Bo Schembechler, almost invariably results in getting a little bit better each day, rather than getting a little bit worse.
In fairness, there are a lot of people who have spent considerably more time studying habit than I have. There’s no dearth of books, essays and studies, all of which advocate the best way to identify and formulate that perfects habits and routines.
Some say that it takes 21 days, but in reality I think it takes one firm decision, and one shining example. In my case, that example happened to be pearly white, or at least heading in that direction.
More often than not, the routine before bed constitutes a brute hurry to get the bare minimum done and collapse in a heap. When I purchased this first set of floss picks, I set them at the edge of my sink, and probably didn’t touch them for a week. It wasn’t until I revisited the advice from last summer that I actually dug in.
Imploring myself to floss, rather than diving into bed, seemed like a conscious, and at times burdensome, task to undertake. But a week in, it became clear that that deliberate decision, and only mild amounts of elbow grease, meant that flossing was something that had to be done each night.
It didn’t necessarily take 21 days, nor did it require a self-help novel or proof of results. It took a point of deliberation, and some well-articulated advice; some words of wisdom that seems all the more sage with time.
Applying this newfound conviction to all other aspects of life isn’t nearly as easy. Cultivating and maintaining a close relationship can’t be achieved at the sink every night, nor does it cost $4.99. There remains a distinct effort that has to be isolated and encouraged, and I don’t think I ever would’ve found it in a book or the "New York Times".
Where to next? I’m sure going the library for at least an hour each day would be a good habit to form, but so might promising myself to read for an hour. It may not be a candy shop, but there certainly are lots of appealing options. Those decisions, about which habit will be best and which will come next, actually seems exciting. Each avenue represents an opportunity to improve, and something about constantly getting better acts as motivation enough.
Bizarre as it may be, flossing each night has become something to look forward too, and not just because my grandma has started to notice. The deliberation, completion and afterward gratification makes so simple a task part of a huge reward. It’s been a fortunate microcosm for how I’d like to better govern my own life, and you’d hardly think a piece of string with fluoride could pull that off. Ultimately, it may just mean that my grandma starts bugging about my hair.
Caleb Ellis is a Trinity junior. His column runs every other Tuesday.
Get The Chronicle straight to your inbox
Signup for our weekly newsletter. Cancel at any time.