Image via Wikipedia
I love words with more than one meaning.
Consistency means the ability to carry through on a promise or action time after time, as in writing a new blog post every weekday on your hour-long commute.
Consistency also means texture, as in the tactile properties or feel of something. The consistency of jello is different from that of pudding, flan, mousse, tiramisu, or ice cream.
Today, I'd like you to think about your consistency, using both meanings of the word. Do you carry through on your promises? Can the people around you rely on you to do - or abstain from doing if that's what's called for - on a regular basis? Note that reliability differs from consistency in that it involves another person and that person's expectations, while consistency can be a purely internal goal. Do you consistently align your actions with your values, and do you consistently interpret your thoughts and feelings through a state of conscious awareness, as opposed to living on auto-pilot? Do you consistently grab what makes you uncomfortable by the horns and wrestle with it, or do you suffer the puncture silently and let it fester? Remember, consistency in this sense is not an a priori value (For those of you who need translation, a priori is Latin for in and of itself.) You can consistently do things that are not in your best interest. This is called self-sabotage. Are you consistently your own worst enemy?
Now turn to the second meaning of consistency and take a look at your texture, the way you feel to yourself and others, your psychic state. Are you hard, like a rock, soft like a down comforter, mushy like oatmeal, or solid like chocolate, pliable like bread? The concept of texture provides an informative metaphor for self-examination. Determining your texture is somewhat like taking your temperature, only you have a much richer scale with more gradations on which to indicate your position.
Now, combine the two meanings of consistency, and try to determine whether your texture changes in response to external circumstances, or whether you remain, well, consistent. Does your usually cool bowl of pudding bubble and boil when someone says or does something that makes you angry? Do you morph from Manhattan
schist into jiggly jello when a parent or other authority figure wags a finger at you and offers advice in the form of commands? And if changes such as these do occur, how long does it take you to cool down or resolidify?
This is all food for thought, but I suppose I'm overcooking the metaphor.
If you'd care to, please share your consistency, in the form of food or any other substance, with me and your fellow readers.