As I’ve told you all before, I have a monkey mind.
It often swings wildly from branch to branch, thought to thought, idea to idea without nary a “Hey-I’m-on-my-way-put-on-the-coffee!” courtesy call before it arrives.
Rude, I know.
Sometimes however, even my monkey mind gets stuck. And last Wednesday, it found itself firmly wedged in the branches of the mighty tree of overwhelmedness.
This is perhaps the worst tree for my monkey mind to get stuck in. It freezes, unable to move or do anything remotely productive other than think. Rethink. Over think. Think through.
I go certifiably crazy.
Having too much time on my hands to think is my kryptonite. My Mr. Big. My achilles heel. My Regina George.
I think of all the things I have on my plate: Full-time job. Blog. Freelance work. Half-marathon training. Family + friend commitments. Maintaining an apartment free of disease, dirt + dust. A handful of other things I don’t mention on the blog.
And I don’t even have a slobbery ol’ boyfriend to worry about!
Or kids! It’s probably a good thing on both accounts, because I’d definitely be a bad girlfriend and/or neglectful parent, the latter of which social services would have the right to come after me for. At least I look really good in stripes.
Then, I think all of the additional things I would do if I had more time: Pitch for more freelance work. Respond to e-mails faster (including sending an e-mail to Rachael to thank her for the homemade bread above). Read more of your lovely blogs. Volunteer. Watch oodles of Friday Night Lights and Half-Nelson, which I’ve had on loan from Netflix for more than 2 1/2 months now. Put on make-up for the courtesy of my co-workers, who have to see me for 8+ hours a day. Cook more. Bake more. Most likely eat more.
I’m left lacking the time to do more but without the luxury to afford doing less.
And it’s tough.
However, with the constant support from the amazingly patient Mama E, I’m learning one important thing: more is not always better.
Unless it’s eating Coconut Bliss Chocolate Peanut Butter ice cream, obvs.
Better is continuing the ever-changing search for balance.
Sometimes, even for us Everythingtarians, that can get out of whack. As a perfectionist, it’s really hard for me to accept that I can’t do more, read more, write more and accomplish more in order to achieve the things I want to achieve. But I need to remember that perpetually doing more can actually be detrimental to my health (i.e. stress -> elevated blood pressure -> more stress -> coronary heart disease), as well as my quality of life. Let’s not even begin to talk about what that does to my one’s sanity (see “pulling a Britney”).
Turns out, I just need to cut myself some slack.
Smell some roses.
Veg on the couch for no reason.
Don’t beat myself up for things I didn’t do.
All novel concepts, I know.
And I’m starting it all now.
As of 8:00pm, I’m logging off GChat, Twitter and my computer and going to go waste unneeded brain cells by watching The Bachelor without a smidge of guilt.
I am me, and that IS enough.
Now, that’s a tree I’d be happy to get stuck in the rest of my life.