I have year-end posts to write, and personal reflections to write, and future planning to write, and I don't want to do any of it. In fact, almost nothing on my to-do list looks interesting right now. I don't like New Year's Eve. It's supposed to be a big moment and it's just another day like any other. Nothing will change tomorrow. The giant backlog of work won't disappear. The gnawing sense of not doing enough won't magically evaporate. I won't be any more motivated to change my diet and finally shed these extra pounds. COVID-19 sure as fuck isn't going anywhere yet.
My rubric for these moments is, "What's the next right thing to do?" And for nights like these, I try to just find one very small right thing to do, then I give myself the break of the rest of the night off. I should read, but I'll go watch YouTube instead.
What a weird year. I had more success than ever but felt more empty. I stayed healthy but live in fear of disease. There were little spurts of creativity but still no consistent practice of creating, no discipline. No drive.
It's a year of brief connections, tiny wins, foxholes, faithless prayers, futile actions.
Just like any other year, maybe.
My rubric for these moments is, "What's the next right thing to do?" And for nights like these, I try to just find one very small right thing to do, then I give myself the break of the rest of the night off. I should read, but I'll go watch YouTube instead.
What a weird year. I had more success than ever but felt more empty. I stayed healthy but live in fear of disease. There were little spurts of creativity but still no consistent practice of creating, no discipline. No drive.
It's a year of brief connections, tiny wins, foxholes, faithless prayers, futile actions.
Just like any other year, maybe.
