We are surrounded with metrics we can choose to measure our lives by. And we have no end of apps and tools and widgets and trackers we can use.
We live by the streak or we die by the streak. So some people say, anyhow. I’m not a fan of streak… for some reason they trigger the self-destructive element of my personality.
“DRINK WATER EVERY DAY?! WHO DO I THINK I AM TELLING ME THAT I’LL DO THIS STUFF?! I’LL SHOW ME!” *raises a can of Pepsi Max in defiance to, erm, myself*
Moving on from my bizarre self-talk, and streaks, I do like the idea of having metrics to keep you on track.
You’ll instinctively know that life runs better when you’re on top of… flossing, or making your bed, or reading before bed, or waking up before the toddler.
While I don’t necessarily think that a religious level of tracking is right for everyone, being aware of what specific steps make your life feel better lived is important. Once you’re aware of those things, you can check in regularly on how often you’re incorporating those things into your life.
The metric I have chosen to measure my life by? Well, this is awkward, but dog poo features heavily.
We have a dog (this post would be even weirder if that weren’t the case). Coco is our enormous teddy bear of a dog, a Labradoodle who my daughter and I adore and who my husband tolerates and pets when nobody is looking.
Most of the dog-related jobs fall to me, and so I’m intimately familiar with my dog’s toilet habits. I know, for example, that she prefers to poop not on the garden but out on walks. I know that she has specific places on our regular routes where she likes to poop.
Don’t groan at me, people… I warned you in the title. What kind of weirdo are you to click on a post about dog poo?! Judge yourself, not me!
And so, my metrics… I can generally tell that my life is going well, I’m in a good place, all is rosy and things are sweet, when there is no dog poop on my garden, and when we’re going through a roll of poop bags around once a week.
As soon as I notice that I’m clearing poop from the garden, it’s like a little warning sign that things are a little off centre.
Why? Because poop in the garden means I’m not walking Coco as often as I like to, which is twice daily with a dog walker taking her out in the middle of each weekday (HI EVE!).
It seems like a small thing. Maybe a day was busy, maybe it was raining, maybe I had a migraine… easy to skip a walk. Skip a day. Skip a few.
But things generally feel better when I’m out walking every morning and evening, rain or shine.
So my metric is dog poop. What’s yours?