Friday, January 24, 2014

Enough is enough until it's never enough

In the fall of 1999, when I was just a stupid kid with all of the wisdom that comes with being 19, I slammed the car door on my thumb.

The pain was as terrible as you might imagine. I spent the night at my sister's house--please note that I didn't say slept. For me, there was no sleep that night--nor for our friend Shawn, who (probably at the behest of my sister, who didn't want to deal with an overwrought female alternately crying in pain and cursing her own clumsiness) slept on the floor of her bedroom and was continually waking up to a pair of feet coming straight at him as I restlessly paced the room. (Why, oh why, didn't anyone think to just get my liquored up? It wouldn't have lessened the pain, but at least I would have passed out eventually.)

My sister and friend gave me all of the sympathy they could muster, and that I could deserve, but in  my memory, that wasn't much. Whether or not Shawn said it, or I simply thought it myself, I slammed my thumb in the car door because I was in a rush.

I'm like that, to this very day. I tromp purposely around work, I quickly swipe my card at the ATM machine in lines at the store, I have no patience for people who linger when the light turns green (although, in my defense, I obey the speed limit), I talk fast, I get annoyed when people amble along in crowds.

And as I do in my daily tasks, so I do in my overall life. I'm rushing through life, not pausing as I dart from task to the next. It's all about plowing through the to-do list, tackling the various tasks and responsibilities, fulfilling my obligations, running the errands. Bubble baths were a nightmare for me until I realized I could even multitask in the tub, listening to Welcome to Night Vale podcasts. Even reading is something I attack as though it's something to be checked off the list--because, actually, it is. I'm supposed to read 12 books this month. Right now I just finished Book 8.

Of course I'm not getting it all done. But I can't deny, my lists have certainly kept me more disciplined and focused than I ever was without them. I usually even enjoy doing most of it, to a greater or lesser extent. But how much am I savoring? How much am I truly observing and taking in? How much am I living?

Or am I just second-guessing myself--undermining my productivity by pointing out the neuroses from which it stems, the underlying conviction that no matter what I do, it simply will never be enough? 

1 comment:

  1. Oh, the pleasures of dithering! I recommend for you a "dither day" a month. Dither as if there is no tomorrow! Dither as if no one is watching! I shall, in turn, endeavor to spend a purposeful day making decisions decisively, multi-tasking, and making lists. What say you?

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