Thanks to the internet, I can tell you exactly what I was doing on the evening of April 8, 2004. My college roommate and I ditched afternoon classes so we could drive up to the Tabernacle in Atlanta and attend one of the most entertaining concerts of all time.

The Darkness was a hot new British glam rock band with one album to their name, but oh what an album it was. Among their hit singles on Permission to Land was a song titled “Growing On Me,” a super catchy tune. It also served as a rather honest real life account of lead singer and guitarist Jonathan Hawkins’ troubles with herpes.

While a raucous crowd sang along with the choral call and response of “You’re really growing on me. Or am I growing on you!?” the zipper on Hawkins’ leather jumpsuit malfunctioned and we were all witness to the tattooed flames emanating from his crotchal region. A Union Jack was swiftly pulled from atop the speakers and stuffed down in the offending area, but we were already rolling in the aisles already with laughter.

I don’t hear Growing on Me often these days. When it does pop up on an old playlist, I’m teleported back to that night in 2004 and crack a smile. But I also still appreciate the age-old philosophical ponderance of the song. Who really is in charge? And when does the parasite become the host?

In April I left a job that served to largely define who I was and had been for over a decade. If my team was getting acquainted with a potential partner or customer, my bosses wouldn’t hesitate to introduce me simply as Chappy (many thought that was actually my first name) and drop a nugget about my involvement since the very early days. I can’t say I minded this. People love a good origin story, and I was proud to be a part of it.

But here we are four months later and that former life is feeling a bit distant. While I’m tempted to say something cliche like “that part of me is missing” I’d be better served to ask “Who am I, really?” If you pull back the superficial egoic layers that have accumulated over time, what is left? Simply put, what ideas do I cling to so tightly that they have started getting in the way of personal growth?

I lean heavily on consistency and predictability. A well-maintained schedule is my jam. We Chapmans eat dinner at exactly 6pm every night. Why? A long time ago, my wife casually indicated that time sounded good to her. After years of dogged adherence, this evening routine is now ingrained in my bones - to the point where food regularly hits the table at six and zero seconds, even without the aid of a clock.

While you might place such obsessive dedication in the good column, I could share plenty of examples of where this need for comfort and consistency quickly turns unhealthy. A type of madness develops where my mind is constantly yearning for that next warm embrace of familiarity in the day, that little hit of adrenaline when I check another predictable box. I also hardly ever pivot with a positive attitude. Throw a change into my snug little world and you’ll get a look that says “WHAT HAVE YOU DONE!?”

Bob Goff is an author, lawyer and humanitarian who is one of my favorite personalities. Bob has a few interesting quirks. For instance, he always wears a Boston Red Sox cap (for a friend that died of cancer) and lists his personal phone number publicly so people can call him (I actually did this and had a lovely chat). Another is that every Thursday, Bob chooses something to give up. This could be literally anything - from a personal habit to a project, involvement or business venture.

Why does Bob insist on this constant change? Because he understands the impact that attachment can have. The love and want of material things is a pretty noticeable indiscretion. We can see that impact on our bank accounts, as well as our closets and storage units. But what about the simple ideas that start to trap us over time? I’ve had a bit of fun channeling this mindset - indulging in a bit of self reflection and simply asking why I do pretty much everything. Let’s rip off that band-aid.

Exhibit 1: So Long, Large Hunk of Meat

Food has always had an outsized presence in my life. I will spend hours a day planning future meals and reliving the delights of dishes past. As much as I love it, though, we’re still talking about “feces in waiting” as a famous Canadian chef put it on Parts Unknown. It’s perfectly OK to celebrate food, but in a measured and intelligent way.

The American plate, like many things in this country, is a bit over the top compared to the rest of the world. I find that to be quite selfish of us, especially since it doesn’t seem to be working for our waistlines. My entire consumptive life has featured a sizable hunk of meat with a little bit of vegetables (usually from a can or fried) thrown in to fill the remaining space. If the rest of the world carried on like this, there wouldn’t be enough dead animals to go around.

I could continue along, putting this thought in the far reaches of my mindspace, leading my family down an unsustainable (and pretty unhealthy) path of endless chicken tenders and cheeseburgers. Or, I could put on my big boy pants and get to cooking a more comprehensive offering of vegetables, grains, fruits and nuts. Anything coming fresh out of the garden gets priority vs. what our discriminating palates might have historically found on Doordash.

I’m a month into this new routine and it has made a big difference in my overall energy, along with growing our family recipe library. This simple change has reawakened my imagination a bit, while simultaneously helping fuel…

Exhibit 2: Outside Time

Having moved across state lines at the age of 14, I don’t have many people in my current life that understand how different things were for young Chappy. While goobers who haven’t visited Alabama may assume the inverse, I went from a very rural situation to the type of suburbia where they give you floor plans to choose from. For ten years in the tiny town of Senoia, Georgia, my parents would encourage us to get lost in the fifty acres we shared with my Grandmother. There was a pond, trails, wide open fields and all kinds of wildlife. I loved it.

There are people who take comfort in the hum of city life and proximity to their human neighbors, but it still gets to me occasionally. I’ll pass another huge parking lot with two cars in it and get pissy about how much better that would have been as a park. But this is the same guy who has started to count watching soccer on our screened in porch as “nature time.” I live in fear that Patagonia is going to come for all the stuff I’ve bought and REI will revoke my membership for being a fraud.

It makes sense that so much of our days are spent in the comfort of the indoors. We’ve outsmarted bugs, inhospitable temperatures, rain and such. If comfort is the sole aim, however, we’re on a fast track to Wall-E playing out in real life.

In an effort to get reacquainted with the out-of-doors, I have been leaving the house in search of trails and hills. I participated in my first legit trail race in over five years this Saturday - a test here in the summer heat of Alabama called Ridge to Blazing Ridge. I got so close to nature during my quiet two hours in the woods that I was digging bits of it out of my shoulder afterward.

It has also helped my sanity to simply walk out the front door and down the street whenever I have a break in the schedule or need a reset moment. Rather than putting exercise and nature in their own little boxes to check, I’m getting reacquainted with the idea that one can simply go outside for fun and get lost in it.

Exhibit 3: Why So Serious?

We had a few whole family beach trips this summer that churned up my childhood nostalgia. I can’t recall exactly when it stopped, but I recall goofing off as much with the adults as I did the kids in our family. We played sports, had rollicking adventures and were constantly on the move. There wasn’t a screen anywhere.

Nobody knows how, but eventually I transitioned from adolescent to adult. All fine and good there, but the shenanigans largely stopped. On our more recent trip, I put the beach beers aside and delved into the activities that I had long since ascribed to the younguns. Boogie boarding is dope, as are scooters, sandcastles, beach bikes and games. Despite the heat and bugs, I successfully drug the entire family outside for an evening croquet match.

As the person who generally does not have a hard and fast obligation with the workweek rolls around, it should be my civic duty to get the party going for everyone else. As a solid first step, I’m now the social chair for our neighborhood organization. They gave me a very respectable budget and plenty of autonomy to get real weird with it.

Exhibit 4: Wabi Sabi

There’s a natural rhythm and flow to life. Though I consider myself a competent percussionist, it seems I often miss the beat because I’m forcing my own tempo. This is why I can’t bear to serve up a 6:30 dinner, go on a spontaneous trip or try out a different hairstyle. I like controlling my own little world. It makes me feel safe and snug living in this illusion that I am in charge.

This nagging need historically manifests itself in anger when things don’t go my way. My head explodes, leading to worry that needn’t exist in the first place. More than anything, I want to savor the moment for whatever that moment brings. Tomorrow isn’t guaranteed. I want my kids to learn to live that way too.

It hurts my heart a little when the girls say things like “I can’t wait to be older.” My thoughts were the same at their age and the mentality has never stopped. Here I am at forty, finally realizing each day is a blessing. Meanwhile, I’m walking circles around the kitchen island trying to get my steps in while the girls lounge away watching cartoons. It’s time to break the cycle.

The stories, experiences and growth opportunities are here for the taking. It’s time to shed some compulsive layers - finding freedom in loosening the grip a bit.

Life is never going to be perfect, but it always has a sense of humor. Allow the real you to shine and have a good laugh about it all.