I leapt when I started this blog, this space to put words and thoughts. I knew it would be difficult, a time suck, a free therapist, and a home for my random thoughts. I was excited. I was scared. I still am.
But when I began I hadn’t a clue just how difficult it would be. I just spent an hour trying to add the all important about page. And here I am, none the wiser, ready to fling my computer.
No, I don’t have a temper.
I think the greatest challenge has been consistency. I am most consistent in my inconsistency.
Exhibit A: I can have little man all organized, chore chart, more chores done, tasks completed. And then one day I wake up, off. For some reason the bed doesn’t get made, then the morning chores go undone, then little man eats cereal and stays in his pajamas all day. This doesn’t bother him, he likes cereal and pajamas, but then comes day two. I let him slide. His morning chores go undone again, his room becomes this strange stinky place and it takes me days, weeks to get back on track. Honest? I haven’t restarted the chores in months and still keep slipping my loose change into his piggy bank. Inconsistent.
Exhibit B: This isn’t my first time blogging. Oh no, I’ve been writing for years. At this point I think I have five failed blogs and three different books started, one personal memoir, a fictional novel, and a biography. Inconsistent.
Exhibit C: Last summer I was challenged to read the Bible in 90 days, LAST SUMMER! I’m on day 67 and keep hitting the “catch me up” tab in the app. Inconsistent.
I admit it! Whew, off my chest. I’m inconsistent. I lack discipline. I face opposition. I face what Steven Pressfield in his book “The War of Art” calls resistance.
Every morning, wham like a freight train, there it is knocking me off track, distracting me from my task. Resistance can come in the form of a fussy baby, a pile of laundry, or stack of dishes. It can come in the ring of the phone, chirp of an email, or social media update. It’s all around us, around me, trying to diminish and deplete.
I struggle with my type-A-ness. That menial task, distracting me from my work, calls my name. “Fold me!” it says. And I stop what I’m doing and fold away, because, let’s be honest no one else is going to fold it. No one else even notices it, that is until they run out of socks. It doesn’t take up anyone else’s mental energy. Only mine. So, out goes the window consistent writing hours, for some gym shorts?
Recently, I read a quote by JK Rowling. She said, “People very often say to me, ‘How did you do it, how did you raise a baby and write a book?’ And the answer is–I didn’t do housework for four years. I am not superwoman. And, um, living in squalor, that was the answer.”
How freeing is this?
Now, my brain craves order. I love order. I believe God created order, not to stunt us, but to build us. So for me, personally, it helps to create a space of order, it helps my mind to wander and for my imagination to flow, but nevertheless I find Rowling’s quote to be life-giving. It’s okay to let some things go, it’s okay to focus on the “most” important. It’s okay to stare-down resistance. And it’s okay to battle inconsistency.
Whatever it is, whatever the dream or goal, for you or for me, get back to it, get back in the saddle, one unsure-tipsy-wobbling-inconsistent-baby-step at a time.