Eating That Elephant

I’m trying to concentrate on writing and finding it very difficult to avoid distractions. I see my email program staring at me…and with resolve I close the program and tell myself I’m not allowed to look at it. I wonder what picture I’ve put on this blog…thankfully the “write” page doesn’t show it (because my mind is so distractable that I could go wander off for hours). I’m like a child stepping from rock to rock in a river, ignoring the current underneath and the lack of a path when the water gets deep. I don’t have the habits in place, and willpower doesn’t work very well at keeping me focused.

My dilemma with focus and distractions is true both at this moment, and in my life in general. I’m trying to focus on being a writer (as one of my roles, anyway), as I hope to someday be an author, and yet, I rarely actually make time in my life to write. In fact, this dilemma pervades my whole day-to-day life – as I jump from task to task, reacting to whatever falls into my path, I have this sense that it’s not where I want to be, and yet, at the time, it seems like I’m taking the only reasonable step I have available to take.

I often say (mostly to myself because no-one else wants to listen to this stuff) that I can never “find” the time to write. Although technically “find” might be the right word, I’m starting to think “make” is much more appropriate.

The writing I’m working on at the moment is my blog post for our Parenting For Humanity blog on “Being Proactive” (in parenting). Perhaps this is ironic, or perhaps it is universal intervention, but I just realized that being proactive is exactly what I am NOT doing with my writing and with my life. I’m applying it in my parenting, but not to myself.

I’m unfortunately doing a lot more waiting around for the right time, the right topic, and the right energy levels to somehow magically line up in the universe and fall in my lap as “the time and space to write”. I know this is not the answer. It only feels like the only choice when I look out and find myself in the middle of the river, and the choice seems to be the previous rock or the next one.

But what if I just sat down on the nearest large rock and took a few deep breaths? What if, before I actually start leaping from stone to stone, I sat on the banks for a while and enjoyed the view? Sometimes to see the path, not only do we have to be able to see the big picture, but we have to relax our vision and let go of any urgency. In doing so, our perspective widens and connections we were unable to see before become clear.

Now, just to find a nice comfy rock.