Justification…

There is an odd feeling I get when I’ve agreed to do something, and I don’t do it for whatever reason.  ‘Guilt’ could describe it, but it’s not quite that simple, because I’m not talking about actual agreements I’ve made:  to do a job for an employer, to read in church on Sunday, to clean out the garage. No, I’m talking about the ideas that live in my head that I’ve finally decided to pursue and take action to make them happen.  Things like writing a book, to begin running again, to travel, to bring my French up to fluency level; those things that require discipline, action, and sacrifice of other, less significant things in my life. I use the word ‘sacrifice’ in describing one of the requirements in creating these things, as well as ‘discipline,’ because they are both so easy to forget.  The sacrifices called for are the little things with which we fill our days: checking email too often on our phones, reading that article we’ve been intending to read for months, deciding to have a drink before dinner, and any number of things that could be used, in my case, to write, to run, to parler Français, to plan a trip, along with other things that require me to focus on the bigger picture of my life, and make a decision in the moment, to buckle down and write, run, etc.  And that’s not so easy, especially when others are involved. Because, as humans, we are great justifiers: we can easily come up with six reasons why we can put away our book, our run, ‘just this once,’ to join a friend or family member in what will be a pleasurable activity, but that will require us to put our plans on hold. At this writing, I was involved in a writing project, having agreed to write 500 words a day, on any subject, just to focus on the task of getting my butt in a chair, and writing for a while to create a habit of doing so.  I decided this was a great idea because that discipline is not yet there in my life, yet I have a great desire to write. I actually started on January 3rd, not the 1st, as had been suggested—and to which, yes, I agreed—and I wrote, quite happily for two days, and then, on a late return from work on the 4th, there was an Anniversary party for a friend I’d said I’d attend, and did so, intending to put in time writing afterward. But, of course, after a glass or two (three?) of champagne, a quantity of smoked salmon, and the late hour, no writing got done, and I went to bed, intending to tackle the blank pages awaiting the next morning.  But on that glorious day off, I had a wonderful lunch with my husband, and a lazy, afternoon of calm rest, that, while much needed in my life these days, could have been put on hold for an half-hour or so, to get words on a page. So, here I sit, doing just that, BEFORE I head off to work, to give me that little writers’ high, and to know I am not cheating myself of my own dreams and desires. Hopefully, just the beginning…