I have a list of things to blog about… and yet I’ve not managed to get any of them together and fit to post.
I could be working on one of them now, instead of typing this to you, but I’m not. I’m not going to, either. Not tonight.
It’s interesting how much things change. Think about what you were doing Last month… Last year… Last week. What’s changed? How has it changed? How hasn’t it? I guarantee you, even if it isn’t obvious at first glance or first thought, something has changed. Probably a lot of things.
This year, my world has changed immensely. I say that a lot, that things are changing, that things have changed, that I’m working inwardly or working on myself, but this year I’ve really kicked things up a notch. Or four. Or seven.
And it’s amazing.
There’s a lot of routine in my life right now. Routine is one of those things that I occasionally think fondly of as one of those things that ‘other people’ can have but that I cannot. I also occasionally rebel against any routine at all and kick it to the curb, to be pissed down the drain. It’s a word that reminds me a lot of some less than helpful periods of group therapy, it’s right up there with sentences that begin “If you just lost some weight…” I used to resent the very mention of my so-called need for routine. Yet here we are. I have daily routines and weekly routines. I can tell you at least half of what my day will bring by just a day of the week, not knowing the date or any specific happenings. It’s strange, but also nice.
I’m not saying that routine is the cure-all for mental faculties, I’m not saying it fixes anything at all, actually. It doesn’t. But having a set of things that I do every day has changed a lot. I get out of bed, even when depression rears and I can’t think of anything I’d rather do then dissolve. Not because I want to, but because I haven’t done my exercises yet. I’ve managed to push through anxiety by gripping the steps of my morning routine. Bathroom. Teeth. Stretch. Count. Repeat. Lift. Stretch. Shower. Even when I’m in too much pain to bear the thought of walking across the room, let alone exercise, I can sit up in bed and check my emails. Sorting one from the next, reading updates, checking my calendar, or sifting through the listings on the Morning Coffee newsletter email… rather than lying around staring at the ceiling or playing games for countless hours instead of moving, showering, or eating.
I have a list, and now I almost always make it through at least half of that list.
I still play games and stare listlessly at walls, don’t get me wrong, but the difference is that it’s my choice to do so, rather than just a time filler or a mindless stretch of anything else.
I even get up at a regular time these days. (It’s a four-hour window, but it’s firmly in the am.)
Even with our spontaneous Seattle adventure at the beginning of the month, I’ve fallen more-or-less right back into the routine of days. And things have changed beyond just the size of my waist and the way I spend my hours.
I’ve done a lot of very intense discernment this year, in all aspects of my life, and I feel like I’m in a bullet racing toward some new and terrifyingly different reality.
I’ve also shifted the way I approach my writing. I am a writer. I don’t need to wait for anyone else to acknowledge me in this, and I sure as hell don’t need to listen to anyone else’s list of reasons why I can’t or shouldn’t engage that, or why I won’t succeed at it. I am. And I have my own pool of self-doubt and dismissal, I don’t need anyone else spitting in it for me.
Even this website is part of my attempts at personally re-defining my worlds and living the new directions I’m aiming.
My world is all askew, and it’s been grand.
Change is all around, and change is the fuel of infinity.