So I’m already feeling guilty because I haven’t fed the beast (the blog) since Friday. As if I have zillions of followers out there, hitting refresh every five seconds, hoping for some words of wisdom, humor, or ire to have dripped from my lips to their screen.
That would be. So. Awesome.
However, I do have a fairly healthy sense of self and while I may have delusions of grandeur in the movies I make in my head, starring me (everybody does that right?), I know no one’s pining away because I haven’t blogged again.
As the title of the blog says, I am full of good intentions. And just as full of ways to thwart, forget, circumvent, and keep from following through. I wonder why I do this. It’s really kind of sad. I feel like I could accomplish so much, be so much, do so much… if only I would… just do it. (Sorry, Nike)
Friends and colleagues often compliment me on how organized I am. Hell, yeah! I am super organized! I can make a plan like nobody’s business. Hand you a thick folder with your travel itinerary down to the minute, your reservation confirmations, your maps, brochures for the spots I think you’d most like to visit. I have lots of plans like that in my head for things I want to do. Things I should do. Things I could do. It’s execution where I fall short. No, that’s not quite correct. I’d have to get up off the couch first to fall.
So, why? My self-diagnosis is two-pronged. I’m a perfectionist and a procrastinator. They work beautifully, hand-in-hand, to keep me firmly grounded in my “I should have, but I didn’t” modus operandi. As a perfectionist, I never want to do anything halfway. If I’m going to do it, it has to be my best work, done right, preferably the first time, because anything else would be? Less. Than. Perfect. And that’s where the procrastinator in me picks up the ball and runs with it. Because I couldn’t/shouldn’t/won’t possibly begin to do X, Y, or Z because there is some obstacle in the way of doing it to perfection. Maybe there’s not enough time. Or I can’t do it on a consistent schedule. Or I’m tired. I’m reading a good book. I need a nap. I’ll do it tomorrow. Next week. When things aren’t so crazy. When I have a better schedule.
I might have to add a third prong, because I definitely see a vein of negativity running through all of this.
Who told me I have to be perfect? No one. My parents certainly set high standards for me as a child and adolescent, but never beyond what they knew I was capable of. They told me all they expected was for me to do my best and they had a pretty fair idea of what my best was. I don’t know where I got it from, but I also don’t know how to let it go.
Of course, there’s always option B. Maybe I’m just lazy and would rather eat than exercise, read than clean house, nap than wash clothes, and then nap some more, because you know, I’m just so damn tired all the time.
I turned 40 last September and I had a long talk with myself about whether I wanted to live the future number of days, months, or years granted to me the way I did the first 14.600, 480, or 40. My conclusion was that no, I did not. It was time to grow up. I can always feel 19 inside if I like, but it was time to stop making excuses, stop procrastinating, stop thinking that I have an infinite amount of time left to get my act together and be more of who I think I can be.
Guess what? 41 is around the corner and I haven’t made near enough progress. So maybe the reason this blog wasn’t born until now was that it will become my path to figuring out how to get over the hump. How to get over myself. How to stop seeing it happen in my mind and actually make it happen.
If not, at least I found a great forum in which to whine about it.
Gotta go. I’m reading a really good book right now.