My house was literally a disaster area before the maid came last week. Laundry was in piles all over the floor in 3 different rooms (2 of them being the living room and kitchen). My coffee table had plates and sauces and condiments and trash that had been there for weeks. I’m not really wanting to brag about what a complete SLOB I am, I’m trying to illustrate a point.
This is how much I had been home. I’m lucky if, since last month this time, I’ve gotten 1-2 hours at home per day before bed each weekday (some days I just ate dinner, watched TV for about 20 minutes and then crashed). Weekends have either been work, out of town, family in town, or full of training/social engagements/etc. I’m not sure how the Triathlon and our biggest milestone of the year AND a game conference I was to attend ended up being the same week, and before that was Vegas and after that was family visiting, but I guess when it rains, it pours. We’ve now got Halloween, a birthday, my half marathon, the warrior dash, and all the thanksgiving craziness in the next month or so.
Even in the haze of exhaustion I realized something today. I do a lot of shit (both personally and professionally). I aim big. I’m not happy going for the safe bet or what’s good enough. And even though sometimes I want to invent a time machine and kick my past self square in the shins, it’s my life. If I didn’t love it, I wouldn’t do it. If I thrived in peace and tranquility, I’d surround myself with it. I don’t. I like a great day of nothing here and there (a movie marathon on the couch with some takeout is one of my occasional pleasures), but damned if I don’t get antsy if it’s more than one day.
I like doing shit. A lot. I like the act of planning shit. I like the act of weighing the pros and cons of one event or gathering vs another or planning an itenerary. I like trying to figure out the most elegant way to fit the most doing into my life. I like the actual doing. I like the new experiences and stretching my boundaries – I used to not – it scared me, but now I live for this. I like being done and reflecting on having done shit. I like having a reason to toast champagne on a Sunday afternoon. Or basking in the afterglow of a great run or a milestone complete flopped on the couch thinking, “wheeee, I DID IT”. I like posting the pictures, wearing the t-shirt, and bragging about it on my blog. Rinse, recycle, and repeat. If I have NOTHING coming up, I get depressed.
I’ll even go so far as to say I am at my best when I am overextended, stressed, pushed to the limit, exhausted and want to quit. I may not feel it in that moment, but stretched thin, I am able to react quickly, with instinct, and trust my intuition. Some decisions or activities are best left to a rested body and a clear head, but I have a tendency to overthink things. Little things. The blue shirt or the red shirt. Soup or salad. When there are 1000 different things to make calls on each day, you can’t get hung up on one.
You have to make the right decision at the time, and move on. If it wasn’t ACTUALLY the right decision and bites you in the ass, you take a lesson from it, and move on. When all you can do is put one foot in front of the other, as fast as you can, there is no time for thinking. You rely on your training, your past experiences, the effort you’ve put into getting *to that point* right now, and your mental fortitude to keep one foot going in front of the other. From back in my gymnastics or diving days – your head goes crazy while you stand still setting up for the trick or the dive, but once you set yourself in motion, your *head* turns off and your *body* turns on. I mean, you have to. No rational thinking person would do any of that. You can’t think. You just do shit.
I may at times wish for less hectic-ness in my life, but I have to remember there are always finish lines. I can always choose not to do the next race. The fact that I continue means that I recognize where I do my best work. At a slow, even, comfortable pace – I do not excel. I need fires lit in my path, barking dogs nashing their teeth at my back, a gnawing feeling at the pit of my stomach that I am in over my head, and a stopwatch furiously ticking away. I need to be like this guy. I need adrenaline.
This is where I truly live instead of just exist. Welcome to my life.
Forgive me, I must be off. Shit to do and all.