That Voice

That Voice. You know the one. Not the television show featuring musically inclined performers who sing (really well) live, contrary to the panel judging them; no, that's The Voice. I'm referring to That Voice... The one in your head. The one that learned to speak English, or whatever your native tongue is, the same time you did and has been talking crap to you ever since.

Like Jiminy Cricket's dysfunctional, estranged step-uncle with the family-incited restraining order placed on him that isn't allowed at family functions that involved alcohol for fear of results. The evil, negative natty, overbearing, consolation prize announcing naysayer that always talks you out of being Great. That Voice.

S/he is always there, hovering over your shoulder. Watching. Criticizing. Mocking you and uttering words of sympathetic defeat like an insatiably unsatisfiable disapproving mother-in-law who, no matter what, "only wants the best" for you.

"It's ok to give up. You can always come back and try tomorrow. You're really not a failure, you're just tired cause you had a long day. You should pack it in for now. Or maybe change sports. You were always good at Checkers."

If there's such thing as Murphy's Law, then That Voice is in Murphy's immediate family of pessimistic, passive-aggressive life changers.

I've started to think that I've gone crazy, now that I'm talking back to That Voice. So far, I've managed not to think aloud. Or at least, I don't think I have.

It makes me wonder when That Voice ever kicked in during human progress. How many times did the inventor of the Wheel give up?

"It's really not looking very round. Maybe it's just not meant to be. This is probably a futile invention anyhow. Who the heck is going to use this thing? You know how weird people get about new things."

And if ever there was a calorie to be consumed unnecessarily, That Voice was always the poorly timed voice of reason (and bad judgement) that picks the perfect time to point out the fresh, out-of-the-oven pastries in the far end of the market that you don't need but, "gosh I bet they'd go really good with a hot cup of coffee when you get home from this incredibly torturous day of work."

"Go ahead. You deserve it. You can always work twice as hard at the gym tomorrow!"

Sometimes, I think That Voice is the channeled medium of the world's greatest politician.

The toughest part about this Life change has been shutting That Voice up, or at least putting them on Mute and getting through some of the hardest workouts and dietary changes I've endured. It's an inner battle, indeed. Now on the flip side, That Voice has its moments of glory too.

"Don't forget, you were supposed to pay the electric bill today. Oh, and you're out of bread."

So, you can't silence That Voice, or sever the vocal chords, yet you can't succumb to the resilience of the postulated, pessimistic provoking, so what's a person to do? Barter? Banter? Bribe? Or just bicker?

My new theory is to handle That Voice with a skillful strategy of two rules:

First, employ Irish negotiation tactics. Answer or respond to every statement or question with a question. You can even fake the accent for good measure.

"It's ok to give up. You already ran two of the five cycles. At least you showed up at the gym. You're checked in on Facebook. You can always come back and try tomorrow. You don't want to push yourself too far and get injured right?", That Voice asks.

"Why will tomorrow be different?" I ask back.

Stumped. That time, at least. Not every time. Sometimes That Voice is quick-witted and convincing.

The second, and possibly more important rule: Always wear a bluetooth or other headset. That way, if you do start to talk back to That Voice, no one will truly think you're crazy, just geeky.

And if all of the above fails, I'm thinking brute force and raw ignorance: Press on. Eventually, That Voice has to get tired of talking to someone stubborn. Ok, maybe not. You're right. It was worth the try.

Vocally yours,
Fat Guy