I’m distracting myself because writing feels like a job. A job I don’t want and one I have to wake up at 4 am to commute far too long to make barely enough money for the water bill.
Since Thanksgiving is this week, I’m thinking about gratitude. And how I’m not the best at it. I’m the push-forward kind, and although there are moments I go, “Whoa. This life thing is going well,” it’s not without a “Yeah, but what about this?”
I may not be perceiving myself all too clearly. I wanted this post to be excellent, and with every word I write that I see it’s not that, I’m slipping further into a funk.
Do you ever put undefined expectations on yourself too?
I’m here to say it doesn’t help.
I do feel stuck, though.
Part of me wants to take on the world, to run with the bulls and float a barrel over Niagra Falls. Another part wants to do nothing but what I’m doing. Because although it is tedious and monotonous, it is also full of meaning and value.
Since my boss is looking the other way, I’m going to punch out for the night. That I showed up is good enough.
Thanks for being here. Love, Jaclynn