I’m sitting on my Fitball® (my desk chair of choice) amidst stacks of paper, business cards, books, electronic devices and cables, and other detritus, momentarily stunned, albeit gently (?) into inaction. Might as well blog.
In the olden days I was a champion follow-through-er. Compelled by the drive to prove my abilities, I was a model of organization and discipline. No matter that sometimes I’d spend hours or days swotting away at some project that would be ultimately discarded or otherwise forestalled, I lived to work. Not so anymore.
his presents something of a dilemma. Thanks to my time of life (50’s) and due in no small part to coaching and being coached for the past decade, I’m just not motivated, or at least not as motivated, by the desire to impress, the fear of falling short, or the need to be doing something, anything, to feel secure and valuable. Further, given the hormonal recalibration of my memory and attention span, it’s easy to lose track of even those things I do or did intend to complete.
Nothing like blogging to restore some perspective. Like journaling, a practice I long ago gave up as too much like living in a hall of mirrors (will someone please put her away?), blogging begins in the whim of the moment and then goes where it may go. If Fortune is smiling, the post may go towards insight or clarity or, on the best days, something of service. Should Fortune withhold her grace, a post may languish, in which case one always has the option of deleting it. But unlike journaling, blogging has just enough of an outward focus to keep one honest while affording not only the opportunity to experience and express a human foible, human but also to share that humanity with whomever might be interested at the moment. Yes, there’s still an undeniable element of narcissism, but even that is subject to what, to my mind, is the unavoidably comedic act of public or quasi public self revelation.
Ahh. So just prior to waxing poetic, this post was awakening a wee bit of “get on with it” seasoned with a dash of “get over yourself” and a generous sprinkle of “guess I might as well start sorting through the muddle.” With that, I shall move on.
