I will write today. I will push these words out like a mother in labor. I will scream and curse and clench my fists and push this baby onto the pages of my screen so I can cut the umbilical cord to this five-year act of treading water.
I wrote this before I began cardio this morning. The mere act of sitting down and typing these few sentences shifted my day just enough that I was late getting started on cardio, late getting back to eat breakfast, late getting in the shower, late getting to my morning appointment.
Late.
That’s me.
I always joke that I’ll be late to my own funeral. That’s probably the only time being late would be rewarded. Though maybe not. What about when you are late meeting your goals but you learn something from the detour?
I had a goal. Scratch that. I have a goal. They say you should say your goal or aspiration out loud and often so that it comes to fruition. But since my goal is about writing, I should write my goal. I want my Masters degree in Creative Writing. I want to stop personal training. Personal training was never supposed to be a steady occupation. It was a pit stop. Like running into a 7-11 to go to the bathroom and grab a diet Coke and some gum during a road trip. For five years now, I have needed to finish a piece of writing of mine with the intent to send it in as part of my application to schools I’ve chosen. It has been this past month that I have finally sat down again after multiple attempts over multiple years and returned to that piece of writing. Late. I would say I made a mistake, but I look at everything I’ve done and experienced over the past five years, and I know that’s not an accurate representation of a shift in plans.
To be sure, there is a literal, tangible deadline if I want to attempt to start a program in the spring of 2018. But there is also a looming figurative deadline. And so, if I don’t make it happen soon, then it will certainly be a mistake.
I remember one Saturday morning run I had done several years ago, back when I was in a tough relationship. (Wait…what relationship of mine hasn’t been tough? But I digress.) Headphones blaring louder than whirring traffic, heat of sun beating harder than my heart, skin sweating like a leaky showerhead, tennis shoes pounding pavement with purpose. I came to an intersection, looked left, looked right, looked left again, ran forward. A car streaked by, a flash out of the corner of my eye. He had run a red light. He had nearly run me out of my running. My thought at the time? I need to break up with this guy. (Not the guy in the car, of course…the guy in my life.) I knew that if I continued to allow myself to be unhappy, I would regret that decision of self-disrespect and stagnancy to my dying day.
I kind of feel that way today. I feel like I’ve been treading water. And my legs are tired. And my eyes want a change of scenery. I’m just waiting for my brain to catch up. For my heart to release. For the prison bars of doubt to bend just enough for me to slip my body through and escape. I may need to pretend I am Wonder Woman and do a little pushing. Push my fears. Push my words. Push my life.
