Ambition; a journal of inspiration to self help, [Cover] (February, 1902)
International Correspondence Schools (Publisher)

General Research Division, The New York Public Library. "Ambition; a journal of inspiration to self help, [Cover]" New York Public Library Digital Collections. Accessed March 10, 2026. (https://digitalcollections.nypl.org/items/39f65f90-c608-012f-027d-58d385a7bc34)

"Well-produced but vacuous undertakings."

Living in our time requires perhaps more SelfDiscipline than at any previous time in history. Just in my short lifetime, the latitude I have enjoyed for choosing for myself has expanded exponentially, and with that ever-expanding freedom, came the equally-expanding necessity of extending my ability to discipline myself. Fifty years ago, I would joke that the radio reception was so poor along a stretch of what was then called Interstate Eighty North across northern Gilliam County, Oregon, along the mighty Columbia River Gorge, that the only accessible station played only Gary Puckett and The Union Gap tunes, with the very occasional Marilee Rush. Today, I complain when my satellite radio kicks out when the basalt rimrock interrupts reception along that stretch. I have instant access, in season, to live hometown announcer play-by-play from each and every team in Major League Baseball, in either English or Spanish. Sorting from among such overwhelming choices demands a whole bunch of SelfDiscipline.

Some turn on their television the instant they get up in the morning. Some even keep a TV in their bedroom so that they needn’t bother themselves to get up to tune in. Everyone else keeps a pocket version providing instantaneous access, twenty-four/seven, to whatever whim might insist they stick their nose in. Without some almost superhuman SelfDiscipline, nothing would get done, given the easy access available now to so damned much distraction. Some, particularly the young, might be excused from having developed requisite SelfDiscipline, though this situation has encouraged schools and parents to exert a heavy hand to prevent scrolling from becoming every kid’s major focus in their education.

Structural weaknesses prevented such excess when I was young. Not only was the reception limited along that stretch of The Gorge, but it was little different elsewhere. I remember visiting Garibaldi, a small sawmill town on the Oregon Coast, in the fifties, before they could get a television signal there. At home, even the television signed off every early morning, broadcasting a test pattern instead of programming through the weeest hours. If I wanted entertainment or diversion, I would have to create it for myself because the now-burgeoning entertainment and distraction industries hadn’t developed the reach necessary to completely distract me from my mission, whatever that might have been. Now, of course, I only ever ultimately manage to accomplish anything because of my often waning SelfDiscipline. If I had none, I’d be screwed. I fear I have not nearly enough left to properly defend myself from being entertained and distracted to death.

I miss a few lunches each week. I figure my no-longer girlish figure can use their absence. We keep our television in an inconvenient place to discourage overuse. I still meditate twice daily, a practice I’ve maintained for fifty-three years and counting. Those are times when I’m unplugged for sure, when I might sometimes even manage to hear myself thinking, or even manage to do a tiny bit of thinking for myself, increasingly rare disciplines these days. I measure my worth not by what I possess, but by what I can gleefully live without. I’m rarely in acquisition mode. I ain’t no saint and probably won’t ever be considered angel material. I scroll like a demon many days, and fritter away time I’m certain to regret forfeiting, probably sooner than later. I struggle to maintain the remnants of the SelfDiscipline I once possessed, even acknowledging that I was never anybody’s paragon of SelfDiscipline in the first place. I consider many of our modern conveniences to be perils to a decent existence, stand-ins for imaginary shortcomings. Well-produced but vacuous undertakings.

©2026 by David A. Schmaltz - all rights reserved

Tags: #Unscrolling, #PureSchmaltz