This blinking cursor stares at me, mocks me–“You have to write something!“–and every blink is another second gone by and I want to make it go away.
There’s a lot I want to make go away. This sadness which isn’t real, the dust bunnies under my couch that aren’t nearly as fun to clean as other stuff like jumping on the trampoline with my four year old.
That’s the thing. Life begs us for attention to so many things. Too many we can ever do. We determine to knuckle down and do them–answer all the emails, go all the places, juggle meals with phone calls, be superhuman–no matter what, then we find ourselves with chest pains and tense muscles and adrenal overload until one day we wake up and the body says, “That’s it. I’m done.”
And just like that the chest pains are gone but so is the energy and motivation and the life-is-so-wonderful feeling. Everything just stops.
And in that quiet place we are forced to admit we can’t do it all. Not even close. We must choose. And if we don’t choose wisely, in the end, we will have deep regrets.
So when this lifts and I can see clearly again, I might say “no” more often. I might choose only a few good things and do them the best I can and refuse to let the other stuff bother me.
Because I am human, like you. Will you choose with me? And we’ll stop letting expectations run our schedules and let appointments with Winnie-the-Pooh do it instead.