It’s 8:46 on a Saturday morning and I’ve been up for over two hours. I’ve showered, done my morning pages and two writing exercises, painted my nails and on my second cup of coffee. I’m reading blogs on the Internet and the old Inner Critic is being grumpy about my being unproductive.
And I have to stop myself and sit back.
8:46 on a Saturday. The sun has barely risen – the light coming through the windows has just gone from slate gray to beautiful golden. If I weren’t sitting with my back to it, I’d probably be blinded by its brilliance. There’s lovely music playing on the radio and I have a full day ahead of me to do whatever I please, and yet some crotchety old guy in my head is being a pain in the arse because I’m not living up to his notion of productivity.
Pray, sir, this productive state you’re describing: what does it lead to? Because the fruits of my labor are slow to grow and not always such that can be savored. Surely one must sit down and enjoy the good things that life offers on the way.
When people say “Live in the moment,” they don’t mean do whatever you want without any regards to the future. They mean take your eyes off the finish line to make sure you don’t trip over a bush.
Happy Weekend, y’all.