The Hippie’s Koan

It’s been a long while since I’ve last updated this dusty excuse for a blog.  I’m just not good with responsibility, or at least when i feel no motivation for it.  If I’m getting paid or there’s a risk reprimand, then sure, I’m the most responsible motherfucker out there. 

Those aren’t my only motivations of course, and I’m not quite as bad as that picture made me out to be.  Obviously, there are things I actually want to do, but I don’t always find it easy to keep motivated with those activities either.  I’m a procrastinator to the nth degree.  This pallid place represents just that.  I identify myself as a writer, you would think a blog would be the perfect home to my conceit, that I’d update multiple times a day, and that I’d be kicked off twitter for preventing tweens from getting their dose of Beiber.  This just isn’t the case.

I used to always lump my inability to do anything all on procrastination, but it isn’t that simple.  You see, the problem isn’t that I put things off, but that I never do them.  It’s my personal plague.

I often find new things I’d like to do, new projects for old hobby’s, and improvements that I just need to do.  I start these things, most times, then the next day when I should continue working on said projects, I slack off, and so it is again and again until I give up.

I’ve done just that with all these things:  getting a guitar and trying to learn to play;making trinkets from leather crafts; I bought art supplies and used them maybe five times; reading all the great literature I said I would; looking for a job; keeping my room decent; writing this blog regularly; writing a column regularly for Xenith; writing short stories and poems for publishing; writing a novel (four attempts and counting).

As you noticed, most of the above list pertains to my writing activities.  No doubt it would, as that is what I aspire to make my life with.  I want to pound the literal and proverbial keyboards ‘til I die.

 

To be fair to myself, I must paint an even picture.  My life is not only filled with these monotonous months of mourning over what I should be doing.

No, I often have moments, surges, of action.  Right now would be a prime example:  Aside from writing this blog (in itself a miracle), I wrote what I consider to be one of my best poems, I began preparations to start school anew (seeing what all I needed to apply), I’m finally prepared to see my doctor with the new research I’ve found on a possible cause of all my pain and sickness, and I have set forth in motion other writing projects as well as posting a new column on Xenith (a two parter, with part two coming Monday).

There are better examples, especially back when I was employed.

 

So, my synopsis of my psychosis is thus:  my activity level is just like my mind, bipolar.  I’m either hyperactive and pleased if not stressed, or inactive and apathetic but still stressed (by the inactivity and apathy).

The obvious answer to my predicament:  strike a balance.  But, doing so, as you know, is always easier said.  But, I have a proposed solution to the impracticality of achieving the preceding solution.  I must let this newest burst carry me forward, until I arrive at a place where I am comfortable enough with my progress to relax a little.  To be zen:  doing just enough to be happy.