We commit to real change, and then we resist it. This cosmic dance has been going on forever in every ballroom since the beginning of time. Remember those New Year’s intentions? Then you know what I mean. What’s up with that? Let’s talk focus….
I’ve committed to write more this year. It’s what I want. Now that I’ve said it, I know I will drag myself into my writing room-- and it will feel as though I have to hoist a dead whale body out of the way---just to sit down and type out a sentence—and this is my “bliss,” mind you. Naturally, I’ll want to pet my cat until she’s bald, then wash my hands, then research how did soap get invented, and then perhaps start a small organic soap company on the side that employs underprivileged women in third world countries. Oh, but I’ll stay put. I’ll write. Because I’ve committed to this focus.
There is a part of myself who will wheedle: “Maybe tomorrow. You’ll feel better tomorrow.” Then there’s the one who’s painted her toenails Purple Passion, during writing time, and stomps her imperial feet. “I don’t want to write,” she bellows. Another part of me bargains. “I’ll answer email now. Do the dishes. Work on taxes. Okay, okay, I’ll exercise!”