It's like hitting the gym for a vigorous workout, and then stopping for a hot fudge sundae on the way back home.

It's like preparing diligently for a big exam, with unrelenting focus and determination, and then showing up late at the testing facility.

It's like printing out a dvar torah to read at the Shabbos table, and then discussing the latest gossip instead.

These self-sabotaging behaviors all began with admirable intentions, but succumbed to human frailty and inconsistency. Perhaps they sting more intensely precisely because the self-saboteur aimed high before stumbling due to irresponsible choices. 

As our parsha would say, it's like building a house and then failing to install a railing on your balcony: 

כִּ֤י תִבְנֶה֙ בַּ֣יִת חָדָ֔שׁ וְעָשִׂ֥יתָ מַעֲקֶ֖ה לְגַגֶּ֑ךָ וְלֹֽא־תָשִׂ֤ים דָּמִים֙ בְּבֵיתֶ֔ךָ כִּֽי־יִפֹּ֥ל הַנֹּפֵ֖ל מִמֶּֽנּוּ׃

When you build a new house, you shall make a parapet for your roof, so that you do not bring bloodguilt on your house if anyone should fall from it.

The mitzvah of מעקה requires the homeowner to install protective fencing around any area from which one might accidentally fall. Safety is of paramount importance in the Torah. One may not bring a dangerous substance or situation into the home. The simple meaning of מעקה is: save a life! Furnish your house with appropriate safety features. It is unwise to accept risks when they can be ameliorated through some minor construction.

The Ralbag, however, explains the mitzvah of מעקה in a different light:

התועלת השני הוא במצות והוא מה שצונו להסיר המכשולות מהבית כדי שלא נשים דמים בביתינו הפך מה שהיתה הכונה בו בבניית הבית

The second purpose of the mitzvah is that we are commanded to remove obstacles from the house in order to not place bloodguilt upon our houses, which is the opposite of what the intention was in the building of the house. 

Here, the Ralbag focuses not on the obligation of hazard awareness and prevention, but rather the absurdity of good intentions married to disastrous execution. The very purpose of home construction is to provide a safe shelter for its occupants, a haven from outside threats. And what has the homeowner done? He created a new threat by failing to fence in the roof or the porch. He took a building that exists for one primary purpose - shelter and safety - and transformed it into a treacherous locale. This is why ignoring מעקה is depicted so dramatically ("and do not place bloodguilt upon your house"). You are undermining the very reason for the house's existence. Not smart!

Rav Henoch Leibowitz stresses the necessity of intelligent choices evident from this perspective on מעקה. He quotes his father, Rav Dovid Leibowitz, who often said: "Someone who argues on the Rishonim is not an apikores (heretic), as it is not a principle of faith to believe in all the words of the Rishonim; but he is a shoteh (fool), and a shoteh is worse than an apikores." The shoteh is not acting smart. 

We imperfect humans engage in enormous efforts towards achieving a goal, and then shoot ourselves in the foot time and time again. Our fabulous intentions will not get us to the finish line without intelligently following through:

It's like working extraordinarily long hours to provide for your family and take care of all their needs, which results in their being denied one of the most essential needs in a child's life: the consistent presence of a parent. But you're too busy taking care of them to take care of them in that magnificent, personal way. You have built a house without a מעקה.

It's like investing a princely sum in your child's Torah education, sacrificing many creature comforts in order to afford tuition, and then enrolling said child in a yeshiva that does not address his or her educational needs. You want so badly for your child to learn, but you insist on sending him or her to the same school that the older siblings attended, or that you attended yourself, without questioning its appropriateness for this particular child. You choose the school that is more "popular" and will provide you or your child with more social capital. But you are sacrificing your child on the altar of your preconceived notions. Wonderful intent, misguided execution.

It's like bringing a child into shul for the purposes of inspiring awe and reverence of the makom tefillah, and then plying them with enough snacks, books, and toys that they hardly notice where they are. You want to make them comfortable in shul, but in order to do so you make it feel like a day care. Your goals are admirable and you mean well, but this is not a genuine shul experience and it might be wise to wait a little longer before attempting it.

If you have violated the spirit of Maakeh, welcome to the Shoot-Yourself-In-The-Foot Club! This is an aspect of human nature, indeed. But this doesn't mean we shouldn't consider if our actions are undermining our objectives. There is always room for improvement. There is always room for getting more smart. And there is always room for a hot fudge sundae.