It is the Middle of the Night
But that is normal for me even sober…
I start my days before even the cockerel is up, a legacy of training for competitive sport and as I write that I begin to wonder how a lifetime of early driven achievement sets one up for later addiction.
Or was the striving so young to be the best an early indicator?
Tennis training every single day and then came the day I refused to pick up my racquet. I wanted to play my piano so then it became piano training every single day until the day I refused to play.
The tennis was my mother, I was tipped for Junior Wimbledom.
The piano was me, my rebellion. I taught myself because she wanted me to be sporty and I was to the extent of winning a sailing championship aged 14 and countless tennis matches but there was no fun.
So I played the piano incessantly, I was good, but started too late because apparently I was not musical.
No matter, I do neither now.
Perfectionism, always having to be best, and no brooking failure lie at the heart of addiction whether it is to chocolate (not me, husband ate the chocolate yesterday), to sport, to music, to alcohol.
Perfectionism is hubris which always implies, by its very nature, a fall.
