Should I be writing this right now?
Before I answer that question, let me ask another question: Should I be referring myself to my should post? These questions could lead me into a crazy spiral of thinking, a dynamo that is fueled by itself. My thought process can sometimes fly in the face of Newtonian physics with its propensity toward perpetual continued acceleration. Then the cops that enforce the laws of thermodynamics remind me that my thoughts are not exempt, as entropy imposes itself in the form of mental burnout.
With small family surprises, packed schedules, and social obligations, it appears the small spaces where I can squeeze in my own personal avocations are reducing to tiny cracks. Up comes the anxious energy, sniffing for any scrap of time where I can punch out a sliver of one of my projects, where I can review a podcast episode or mind map the topics for the next radio show. As these small spaces begin to reduce to microscopic size, my desperate grip on grabbing that space and subjugating it like a despot increases in inverse proportion.
I give myself the talk track of personal choice. I tell myself that I have options, that the agenda and management of my time is based on choices I have made. That is true and I know that’s true. However, the acknowledgement of that truth does not blow out the candle of frustration. My own emotions have caught me by the tail and I can’t seem to shake them loose.
My next step always takes me in the right direction, although it is very unpleasant medicine to squeeze down my throat. I have to own it. I have to declare my dissatisfaction and frustration with myself. I have to wrap myself completely in it, casting aside the temptation to attribute my state to the actions, decisions, or choices of others. I have to agree with myself that the situation is of my own making. To my left is the pit of self-victimization that can swallow me whole. To my right is the rabbit hole that leads to the sand that is irritating the mother-of-pearl. Time to dive into the oyster.
What do I lose by not accomplishing these tasks I have set out for myself? What happens if I don’t get a podcast posted for a second week in a row? What happens if the blog is left devoid of a post beyond a full week? There will be no mobs with pitchforks outside my window. There will be no paychecks docked, no disappointed parents, no lives lost in the emergency room. This is my own imposition placed upon myself. I stand imposingly over myself, arms crossed, foot tapping. My own minister places a hand on my shoulder and I want to brush it away.
What it really boils down to is my passions in postponement. I have measured my time based on indulging myself through the extent of which I can immerse myself in my personal endeavors. But the endeavors can wait. I can embrace the surprises that slip into my space, knowing that it is the newness of being alive that keeps things interesting, that family is one of the most precious parts of our lives that leaves a hole when they are not with us. That having to go to work allows us the wonderful lifestyle in which we live. That all I have to do is let enough time pass and I will finally have all the time I want to wallow in the mud of my endeavors.
In the meantime, much like a dieter sneaking into a closet with a Snickers, I will sneak in this one blog entry. Hopefully I don’t catch myself…