Here are some things I like about charts.

They are informative.

(this chart originally appeared here)

Instructional.

(this chart originally appeared here)

And…um…Tupac-ish?

(this chart originally appeared here)

Also? Charts have a site dedicated to their amazing, sparkly powers. (I love charts)

But charts’ most remarkable accomplishment to date is getting its very own book, which is available May 1.

High fives to the authors Jason Oberholtzer and Cody Westphal for their work and a huge thanks to both of them for including a chart from This is Not That Blog in the book.

____________________

____________________

____________________

____________________

______________________________

____________________

____________________

____________________

Ambition is a slippery slope for me. When my over-active imagination collides with my perfectionist tendencies to create any kind of objective, I usually end up conceptualizing an insurmountable goal and then emotionally pummeling myself for not achieving it. Because there’s nothing quite like being bested by your own imagination.

Anyway, I am never more at risk for being slaughtered by my own ambition than when it comes to self improvement. For me, self improvement is endlessly cyclical–like a sad, creaky hamster wheel.

I am always somewhere on this cycle. In fact, just two weeks ago, I happened to be at the “attack goals with frenetic vigor” place. It was at that time that I decided to go running for the first time in weeks and then perform the calisthenics equivalent of bench pressing my entire, fully furnished house. In short: I made the fatal mistake of trying too hard (Let this be a lesson to you, kids.)

While it will not surprise you to learn that I injured myself along the way, it certainly shocked the shit out of me. I had forgotten one of the most important lessons of self improvement: Exercise does not like to be attacked with full force after weeks of half-assed efforts. Exercise does not appreciate being neglected. Exercise will cut you.

As a result of my dangerously enthusiastic workout routine, I pulled probably every muscle in my back and embarked on an entirely new journey I like to call: getting high-fived in the face by pain. This journey always walks me through the same three steps.

The first step is pretty benign:

(If at this moment, you’re like ‘Wait. The pain is talking to you? I think that’s schizophrenia.’ Shut up, because no, it’s not. And also, in my defense, this is just a dramatization.)

So after a few days of passively observing the pain in its new habitat (my entire, fucking torso), I progressed to the obvious next step:

I finally broke down and went to see the doctor last week, and GUESS WHAT!?! It’s not cancer (probably. I mean, not yet?) I have in fact pulled a few muscles, and so I’m taking it easy and waiting patiently (HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA) for them to heal.

Which brings me to the third and final stage of any illness or injury: the part where you forget what not having the illness or injury feels like and settle into an uncomfortable but hopefully-not-lasting friendship.

But the good news is that getting high-fived in the face by pain has ushered me safely into my favorite stage of the self improvement cycle: the “eat Cheetos in yoga pants” stage. AND since I am physically unable to lift my own TV remote, it will be a long time before I’m stupid enough to attempt any kind of self improvement efforts again. At least a few weeks anyway.