In a Yellow Wood

I've been thinking about habits--why we have them, why we need them, why we can't break ourselves free of them. A habit--isn't it a vice in disguise? An Achilles' heel of sorts? A constant that you have no interest in taking a vacation from let alone walking away from completely?

The word habit has such a negative connotation to it--being that it is more often than not referenced and written about along with the precursor bad. Are all habits bad? And if that's true, then why can we never identify that fact for ourselves before it's too late? Why is the fact that you bite your nails or that you continue to sleep with a married man an exception to all your other rules?

That's it right there. Our habits are our exceptions to the rules. The sooner we take responsibility for that definition, the sooner we can stop pretending there aren't ethical and emotional ramifications to some of this behavioral immunity we find ourselves indulging in.

Perhaps if we recognize that the perpetuation of a habit is in and of itself a subdued addiction, then we can stop citing them as a function of our subconscious and more as an exhibition of our intrinsic inability to experience emotional consequence prior to physical consequence.

Having said that, I'm of the disposition that rules were made to be broken.