What's My Motivation?

A day with no errands and no place to be is a mirage.  It appears, from the distance, to be the perfect spot equipped with all of the trappings needed for peace and perspective.  Upon arrival, it is what it is - a blank computer screen and "all the time in the world," which to a writer who is presently blocked is not a vacation destination but rather a lesson in self-brutality.  I am kicking myself for all those times that I whined to people, claiming that if I had more time, less interruptions, etc. I would be the WRITER I wanted to be.  I blamed the distractions, blamed the hurried schedule, blamed so many things.  But today, I am left with a clean slate and my own self-discipline.  I could make you a list of all the things I would like to start in order to avoid writing, but that would be writing... sigh.

So what motivates me today?  I will write, no matter what, and I will work on my other projects no matter what in honor of the girl I used to be, the one who claimed she never had time.

I am my own boss these days, and as my own boss, I need to crack down on my employee.  She is willful and lacks direction.  She needs to finish this blog and then plant her sweat pant-clad ass in front of the screen until something comes out of her brain and filters down into her fingers, types itself, and breathes on its own.

Man, my boss is so bossy.  Off to write and begin an inventory of the items we will be selling as a family on eBay, as well as read one of my many books on how to motivate oneself.  I know I am leaving out the fact that I am also motivated by my children, by my dreams, by the support of those who love me and the awesome arms of the Creative Intelligence who planted these seeds in the first place, but some days... some days it's just as simple as admitting that I don't want to do anything except pull the blanket back over my head and wait for the snow outside to melt.  Because then I will write, right?  There is no time but now, and excuses are just fancy things to say when it is too painful to admit that I am either scared or lazy.

Damage Jr.

Damage Inc. - Kids and the Process of Elimination (continued disclaimer)

My children have been fascinated by this decluttering and dejunking process, as I am trying to make it fun.    But truthfully, I am thankful that there are people in my life who I love and who I am responsible for.  I am not sure how I would have felt if I had leveled the structure and been left standing alone and unaccountable.

I explained to them after yet another failed attempt at ego-driven fortitude that Mommy needed some things to change.  I told them, frankly, that they were being taught by outward example a way to live that didn't fit in with the things they were being told.  I asked them their forgiveness, and quietly included a sidebar that they had been given too many things when I wasn't sure what else to do, that instead of salving a wound, I handed them something to play with because I didn't know any better.  My attempts to instill order and peace were in the material world.  I was telling them they were loved unconditionally, but showing them that if you make it all pretty on the outside, if you keep the structure upright, the foundation doesn't really matter.  I thought I was loving them and providing for them, giving them things that they needed and wanted.  I was failing in the most simple way.  We didn't have time to be grateful for the little things, the simple things, because we were staring at the shiny stuff, holding on to the physical things and cramming the emotional questions and truths into neat, tidy Rubbermaid bins, stored in the back of overstuffed closets.

The humor of it all comes when I ask my son if he remembers any of the times I talked to him about my guilt, about how I handed him toys when he was young and I was a young mother, unsure of what to do when he was sad or our situation was scary.  I asked my kids just now, in fact, if they remembered any of the things I said to them while we were packing to move this last time.  They both said no.  The words, again, in the end, mean little and the outcome means little, but we rolled our eyes at each other when we remembered how MUCH stuff we used to have, and how we are still overly, extremely blessed.

Tune in for Part II - Running a Home Like a Business, and a Heart Like a Non-Profit, when You Don't Know How to Run Either.  Or maybe a title that is shorter.

Damage Inc. - Remodel

If we are buried in things, we will be distracted by the shininess, like a baby raccoon or a hyper cat.  Wiggle some thread or flash a shiny object, and the animal forgets everything else and stares, or darts toward it, totally focused.  Darts away from food.  Darts in front of a moving car.  Instantly switches gears.

Downsizing meant admitting to myself that there was too much.  I've only mentioned the physical baggage that we were carrying around, the things that made the people who helped me move over the years cuss me out when it was over, and groan in agony when I asked them to help again.  The physical was the easiest to start on.

Starting on the "stuff" unearthed the real mess.  Years of fear, sadness, financial leaps and bounds and subsequent falls, moves, divorce, illness... the death of friends and the birth of babies, the birth of relationships... that was all under each item, fresh and raw.  It was all waiting patiently to be looked at, inventoried.  It all wanted to fit.  I would have paid someone to have done this for me, because under all the physical was the realm of the spirit, the stuff of the mind, the things I didn't want to look at.  I felt like the biggest fool in the world, sitting in her self-built tower of protection, built on her own avoided issues.  Other people and even my God offered me better places to live, but I would make it here on my own, thank you very much for the offer, and stop pointing out that my sturdy walls look like they were built atop Jell-o.

There is nothing worse than tearing into a house to remodel and finding out there is rotting wood and mold behind perfect-looking walls, floors.  If I wanted, I could just built right back over it all, and keep adding until my world got small enough to manage.  I could keep doing what I had been doing since I was sixteen - add another layer, brick myself in a la Poe.

Instead, I leveled the place.

More in Part II, as well as a disclaimer about my kids and how they have fit into this 'renovation', and a reminder that no, I didn't ACTUALLY and/or literally level the place.