You can outdistance that which is running after you, but not what is running inside you. -Rwandan Proverb

I am not a runner; never have been and probably never will be. Yet, I am running- so much so, a trained marathon runner might be exasperated trying to keep up with my mindset.  Today is a goofy day. I went back to work after having 18 days off. I am squirrely, and I feel off. I know much of this is due to having my schedule basically unhampered for nearly three weeks. But my anxiety is starting to get the better of me. Old patterns are rearing their heads, and I need to squelch them soon.

One of my biggest flaws is follow through. I love to start a great project, to be in on the planning. But to actually see something through to the very end? That’s foreign to me. I am not the type who sees a huge project, toils through the task and feels like a proud momma at its closure. Something in me likes the chaos of lots of unfinished projects. I justify it by saying I’m testing the waters or I’m eclectic or even better, I don’t know who I am yet (See yesterday’s post).

Truth be told, all of this is crap.I am scared. What if I finish something I start? Will I be disappointed in the end result. or God forbid, be proud of what I did? Either way, until I “fix” my head, the result will be crippling. If I fail, I reinforce that voice that says, “See? I told you so. You suck. Why do you even bother?” On the flip side, if the end is positive, my demons start barking, “You got lucky. Other people carried more of the weight. It’s not perfect, yanno.”

Now before you envision me with a ski mask over my face, sitting by my front door, keys in hand, petrified to take a step humor me a bit to know that I CAN and HAVE started and completed many things. I teach, therefore, I begin and end units nearly weekly. I have completed 22 successful school years. I have given birth to four children.

But the parts of me that I want to explore become stagnant. I have a book of spiritual poems I would love to see in print. But, I am so good at being a victim that I fall into the “Well, I don’t know how to go about doing that.” So, it sits. And I sit. Unlike the poems on paper, I sit and rip on myself. It’s comfortable, familiar, but oh-so-sickening; when I am in my reflective self, the process makes me disgusted. Why go through therapy, AA, sober chats, blogging, ANYTHING if I am going to continue to time after time continue to spin the record without lifting the needle, dusting it off and starting the song over?

Well, I do so because it IS uncomfortable. I spent years drowning in alcohol to give myself excuses for the lack of ambition: Buzzed, hungover, tired, blah, blah, blah. If I am going to spend the time being introspective, it’s time to do something external, to take a chance. I don’t like chance; I like planned and organized.

HA! Have you ever met an alcoholic who likes calm, planned, predictable? If you reread the first paragraph I talk about being squirrely today because I am back to work, a schedule. Somehow, I need to get what I SAY to match not only what I THINK, but also what I DO.

Today, I don’t have the answers. But I do know that I am calmer getting the thoughts out of my head and onto the screen. They become real to me and I give them authenticity and credence when I do.

So, I will figure out a small project I can do to start. I really want to publish my poems. Today, I will investigate what it takes, set a deadline and work towards that goal. I have to get  off the proverbial roller coaster and until I do something different, I am going to get what I’ve always gotten.


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