I’ve written a terrible blog post.
I would badger you with excuses about how I didn’t mean to write a terrible blog post, but the truth is, that’s exactly what I meant to do.
You know how The Incredibles starts with Bob Parr driving to his wedding? His wedding, which is at night? And he’s leaving in the early morning? The whole day ahead of him? So much time to get where he needs to go?
And somehow, he still ends up late.
That’s how 2022 feels to me.
I started the year with grand ambitions and an empty slate. Nothing expected of me, no commitments tying me down, just me and my creativity against the world. Every time a new project came along, I’d look at my empty schedule and be like, “Suuuuuure, I have time!”
As it turns out, saying “suuuuuure I have time!” too often makes you no longer have time.
I feel like I’m on a treadmill of self-constructed deadlines. If I could just stop and get my bearings, I’d be fine, but the ground beneath my feet is speeding away and if I don’t keep running, I’ll faceplant gruesomely. I promised myself I’d have a decent chunk of Project Caribou edited by the end of April. I promised myself I’d keep my blog going faithfully with outstanding content. I promised myself a full eight hours of sleep every night. I promised myself so many things, but as the other projects pile up, the commitments I made to myself lose their luster in the maddening dash of GETTING THE OTHER STUFF DONE RIGHT NOW.
My coworker took one look at me yesterday morning and said, “Burning the late night oil, were we?”
First of all, rude.
Secondly, HOW WRETCHED DID I LOOK THAT SHE KNEW ON SIGHT???
I had a miniature existential crisis that ended in me contemplating getting a therapy dog.
The good news is, I had several months’ worth of blog posts prewritten to keep me going in times such as this, when I’m swamped with other projects.
The bad news is that I already used them up.
The somewhat okay-ish news is I have no qualms about publishing a terrible blog posts written last-minute.
So here you go. I’m not sure if this is a sign of how comfortable I am with my blog following, or I just don’t respect you, but regardless, this is the place we’ve arrived at. Terrible blog posts and therapy dogs. Under-eye bags for days. Faceplanting on treadmills.
I’m thankful for being swamped with projects because it means I’m moving forward with my goals and accomplishing things. But it also reminds me the importance of priorities and not letting your craft consume your sanity. Projects are good, but so are breaks. Breaks are definitely good. Random drives with your mom are good. Impulse buying potted hyacinths to position around your living room and asphyxiate your family is good.
Life is a beautiful mess and I want to contribute, not just with words and creativity and too many deadlines, but by living as best I can with as much joy as I can find.
Sometimes, that means writing something dumb and not caring.
Sometimes, that means getting a therapy dog.
In the end, it will be okay.
And guess what?
This is a terrible blog post.
Edit: After receiving a few concerned emails and comments, I would like to note that the therapy dog part is in fact a joke and not something I’m actually considering or at all in need of.
They are cool though.