Stepping around the mound

A reflection on procrastinating for a while, and then not

A sunrise like today’s makes me think about that sentiment that appears through the pen of the prophet who wrote: “His mercies never come to an end, they are new every morning.”

Sometimes I procrastinate a long while from doing a thing that I want to do, and then I wake up one day and I’m like, “Ahhh *deep sigh* new mercies.” And I just go ahead and do the thing.

I like to sit every morning at my desk and peek out the window askance at the sunrise, and write. 

But I don’t always do it. 

Because: Plenty of reasons—I have ten other projects going that all want my attention, I went camping for a few days because I needed some rest, and now I’m behind on my list, and I have to go to the dentist, and the grocery store, and make phone calls, and walk the dog, and fold the laundry, and put out the compost, and go to the library, and go to the coffee shop, and zero my inbox. 

I do have to do all (most) of those things. And honestly, I love the ordinary things that fill up life. All those things are beautiful. My dentist is great. But, sometimes when there is a simple thing that I truly want to do, like sit down and write for thirty minutes, I let all of the rest of it pile up in my mind until I’ve built a mound of justified inaction.

Then, when several days go by, then a week, then two, and I haven’t done the thing that I want to do, what I usually think that I need is a boost of intention to get going again. I think that I can shovel my way out of inertia with intention.

I’ll begin setting my intention at some point each day, noting how important it is to me to sit down and write the next day. 

“Here is a mound of inaction, and intention is my shovel,” I’ll say to myself. 

And intentions are like shovels. They can be useful. When they’re put to use. But, after a week or two of stating my intentions, I often end up with that original little mound of inaction sitting right next to a great big pile of shovels.

And I’m like: “Hmm, now all these shovels are in my way. Surely I need to build a shed so that I can store my shovels.”

You see how it goes. That’s familiar, right? 

For you it might not be sitting down to write. The thing you truly want to do could be pretty well anything. It’s probably something creative. It’s probably something that’s good for you. And—in order to do the thing—it is very unlikely that you need any more shovels or sheds.

Once we step around the mound it can all feel a little silly that we were treating it like a mountain. Haha. Silly me. Deep sigh. New mercies. 

But it’s no wonder we get stuck, because sometimes the legit mountains also get in the way. (Even though they are the way.) 

We have great big mountain sized ambitions: “I want to write a book.” or “I want to grow my business.” or “I want the lead role in a play.” 

These dreams and desires and ambitions are mountains, glorious in their grandeur!

And in the shadow of these ambitions it’s easy to let slip our grip on the value of the next doable thing.

“I want to write a book” is not my next doable thing. “I’m going to write for thirty minutes” that’s my next doable thing.

“I want to grow my business” or “I want the lead role in a play” are not the next doable things. 

If those are the mountains that you’re climbing, hurrah! I can’t wait to give you my money or watch you perform. And also, I can’t tell you what your next doable thing is. No one can. 

But I can tell you this, whatever mountain you’re climbing: 

1. Your next doable thing is a whole lot smaller than the mountain itself, it’s something you can—well—do, in one stride. 

2. If you’re willing to look—not up at the mountain (you can bask in its glory later) but right down at the path by your feet—you’ll see it.

3. It’s very unlikely that you need a shovel or a shed to do it.