Some wind down by curling up on the couch with a good book or binge-watching their favorite show. They’ve somehow mastered the art of relaxing without tying their entire self-worth to their productivity.
Me?
My engine runs akin to an adderall ridden raccoon laden with an intense caffeine addiction. No chill.
I find it difficult to just be. I begin to feel restless and antsy. My body gets that creepy crawly feeling from the inside and I have GOT to do something.
So, my brain creates a never-ending to-do list of “we should do this” and “oh wouldn’t this be fun” leading me to a mountain of projects, plans, and wildly ambitious ideas.
Overall I don’t mind being busy but there are times I find myself overwhelmed and frustrated that I can’t keep up. For example, this evening when a project didn’t quite hit the mark, I was annoyed. I allocated time and energy that could’ve been used elsewhere. Ridiculous.
It’s a vicious cycle of my own creation. And yet, I won’t get off this hamster wheel.
One minute I’m painting a banner. Next, I’m decorating for halloween, demoing a shed, or planning a project that requires a set of skills I have yet to acquire or the necessary power tools to actually execute it.
Speaking of projects… I pulled out a paper mache pumpkin I started last year but didn’t finish ha! Guess who’s going to paper mache a pumpkin this week? Ding, ding, ding. This girl!
Honestly, I probably should compile a list of all my almost finished projects and complete those before I begin anything else because that in itself is a list. I have one wall missing quarter round, no outlet covers in a bedroom, a backyard that looks like it belongs on an episode of the Beverly Hills Hillbillies, and a pool that I have yet to assemble since Covid.
But does that faze me at all? Nope.
Will it stop me from starting another project? Also, no.
The crazy part?
I genuinely want to have time for all of it. I get such a high from marking things off my list. Maybe that’s why I have a honey-do list that’s a mile long. I am manufacturing my own dopamine hits.
I don’t have a shortage of ideas, that’s for sure. But I do have a shortage of time coupled with a wildly unrealistic expectation of how long things will take when small humans are involved. And they are always involved.
Believe me, I’ve spent the better part of a decade testing that hypothesis.
The results are remarkably consistent.
My optimism remains unaffected.
But here’s the issue about having too many ideas. My imagination operates in a land where time, money, and the laws of physics are merely suggestions.
In the real world, though, those constraints are a mother fucker.
So what do I do about my predicament? I sit here and write. Is this the best use of my time or energy? Who knows but it feels good to let it out.
Because, if nothing else, the level of chaos I coordinate, entirely of my own free will, is comical.
Will I learn to slow down? Probably not.
And that, folks, is ME in a nutshell.
A walking contradiction of good intentions, unrealistic expectations, and optimism fueled by coffee and my own delusions that I can do all things.
Til we meet again.
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