Every night as I lay in bed, I go though a mental list of all the things I want/need to accomplish the next day. A credit card payment to make, laundry, repot a fern, lose fifty pounds, become the next David Sedaris, ya know, the usual. I pump myself up and repeat “I WILL BE PRODUCTIVE TOMORROW!!!” enough to fall asleep with a BRAVEHEART-battle cry enthusiasm and motivation to tackle the world! The next morning, however, after I have lingered in bed long enough to not have thirty minutes on the treadmill and time enough just for a shower and cram a handful of cookies into my mouth for ‘breakfast’, my day is already ruined. It’s usually not even nine o’clock and I’ve called it quits.
My annoyance grows as the week goes on, yet my motivation wanes until finally sputtering out on Thursday morning when I realize Friday is always a ‘free day’ and no one should ever have to make any sort of effort on the last day of the work week; the fact that I have accomplished none of the things I have set out to do Sunday is irrelevant. Fridays are Jesus’ reward for a job well done for everything we’ve done all week and a reminder to treat ourselves in the midst of the all the credit card bill-paying, laundry, plant repotting and best selling novels written that week.
Pressure to accomplish everything and have it ‘all’ is intense in our society and I admittedly am harder on myself than seems healthy; the fact that I’m better off now than my ten years-ag0 self isn’t the point. I haven’t written a whole novel yet, let alone become a world famous artist, I have no marathons under my belt and I’ve made it as far as Canada and no further. I’m as married as I’m going to get, my son is twenty one years old and not a doctor and the two dogs we have smell like dirty blanket creatures.
But, I can vegetables quite regularly, preserving lots of what we grow ourselves, I’ve lost sixty five pounds and still battling weight daily, I’m a tireless advocate for the GLBTQ community, I work at a job that I completely love and am surrounded by people that think I’m pretty swell. I might not be a Kardashian or Hilary Clinton, but the ME of right now is actually someone the ME of twenty years ago would have been pretty jealous of. And I ain’t dead yet.
*knock on wood*