Let's do this

I can't remember the last time I did this much nothing on a Sunday. To my credit, I did clean my room (except for the clothes, which is not unusual) and put in my bookcase I brought back from home that's been sitting in my trunk for two weeks. Other than that, I took a nap, listened to top 40 radio all day (I keep swearing to stop that completely, most of it is crap), and fiddled with meaningless odds and ends to pass the day away.

As I pulled yearbooks out of storage to have more handy in the bookshelf, I started leafing through items in the rest of the box. A folder of loose papers of writing from grade school, journals from high school, random one-subject notebooks from college. I envy people who have even several books filled with writing. I've never been able to do that. All the journals have maybe used the first 20 pages (usually less). On the positive side, at least I have some writing to represent different stages of my life, sporadic and incomplete as it may be.

It struck, but didn't surprise me, how much of what I wrote sounded the same. I usually write when I'm frustrated or down. But eight grade to mid-college, I felt a common thread of both struggle and frustration. Wanting to improve, to complete things, to focus, to excel. (The struggle is a topic for another day.)

If there's one thing that I constantly and consistently do, it's analyze myself and evaluate my life. Which is a great thing (although "over" could usually precede those two words)...except my follow-through blows. I've known this forever. When I was young and first took piano, started writing, began studying things I enjoyed. I knew that I could do great things if I worked at it.

But it makes me mad at myself when I ask myself what I've really worked for. When it comes to responsibilities, I do what needs to be done. Dare I say, I do as well as my scattered self can, and I push to do better. But when have I ever felt like I've excelled?

Never.

Not to say that I've never done anything well, I know that's not true. But I know what I can do and what I'm capable of. And I can't say I've ever done it. I get tired. I'd rather spend time with friends. Watch a movie. Browse the internet. Shop.

I want to figure out how to push myself to manage my life better. To be healthy and energized. To focus and not forget details or deadlines. To be balanced in it all. Very easy to say. Which is probably why I just keep talking about it over and over and over. It feels like I'm accomplishing something, when nothing really changes afterwards. I still hope that one of these times will be different. That I'll get fed up with myself enough to actually do it. That I'll stumble upon the key to harnessing my drive.

There's many things I want to accomplish and many things areas that are a priority. And since I've made many lists of those, it seems silly to do another. But it is something that helps me stay on track, even if it doesn't lead to me doing it all right.

Priorities:

1. Spiritual.
   It's never too late to pick up where I left off. 
2. Family.
   Time is not a guarantee. 
3. Friends.
   Maybe I'm not as selfless as I thought I was.
4. Myself.
   Give my body air and exercise, good things to eat, and healthy habits.
5. Words and ideas.
   So much wealth comes from exposure to reading, poetry, film, music, and writing.
6. Money.
   Spend less, save more, give generously, buy responsibly.

Excel at:

1. Work.
   There are 40 hours a week in which to better myself professionally.
2. Creating.
   Writing, poetry, art—it's not effortless.
3. Piano.
   The ivories are calling me back.
4. Dance.
   Or it could be yoga or sign language. All I know is there's movement and rhythm in me that my body longs to express.

I could get more specific. I could add more to either list. But that would overwhelm and defeat the purpose. This is enough. This is what's important.

And hey, despite a few Facebook deviations and several other minor distractions, this blog ended up being posted and not in the pile of drafts! I'll take that as a start.