It seems certain that I'm doomed to repeat the failures of my past. This is one of three blogs that lie dormant at the bottom of the Internet depths. And it's not the fact that they are dormant that bothers me but the idea that at one point I was motivated enough to start and found the energy wash away. The work was too much in truth. Perhaps expecting too much over a short period of time. Traveling and allowing the next post to slip. Lots of good reasons I can come up with in my head. I just quit.
Oddly enough I'm a sucker for punishment as I return to the page to write a few more words. Feeling inspiring on this Tuesday evening for no apparent reason. The inspiration is one thing. Dedication and commitment seem to be my fatal flaw when it comes to blogs. The dream of freedom that comes from writing battling it out against the sheer determination required to do it for days, months and years on end without any possibility of success. It would appear that the fear of failure, in all instances, outweighs the chance of achieving something more than the sputtering noises of an unsuccessful blog.
Maybe it's the idea of having to write out how I truly feel about things. Being open and honest with myself and what I thought about ideas, opinions and book itself. Maybe its that I'm not very good at sitting still for too long to think long and hard about these things. My deep thinking usually hits me when I have nothing in front of me to capture the ideas. (Oh there is that talent versus doing thing again). Maybe I'm lazy. Lazy and distracted by whatever comes across the screen. Not willing to give myself the chance to really dive into a thought or opinion (kind of like what I'm doing right now). Feels good to write down some excuses for why I'm not writing. Forces me to write.
I've been listening to Jon Acuff's latest book Finish and it could be as simple as perfectionism getting in the way of simple work. Goals might be too big in my own head overpowering the simple task of just writing. I'll set the goals a bit smaller and watch for that damn perfectionist voice that derails.
Where do you turn the corner on just writing a book review? Why does every book have to represent something so deep and personal that I'm unwilling to capture a few notes down on the page about them for someone out there to read and perhaps decide whether they want to read it or not. Every opportunity to write becomes a wall coated with every type of lubricant known to man that I'm going to climb over. The decision to act comes with its own demons. I'm going to have to keep this going. It's not going to mean much in the end. Here I am typing this out ... Will I post...Probably not. Phew. Feels good to get some of those doubts out as well.
Feels good to write though. Feels good to at least put a few things down on paper as they stream out of my head. Unstructured. Unfiltered for the most part or at least I like to think so. My subconscious could be doing some filtering down there. This will be the ... fifth time I've come back to a blog in a similar fashion. Working to overcome the resistance/procrastination/<word that describes this always gnawing problem>/perfectionism/etc.
My motivation curve has the slope of a double black diamond ski run with my determination flogging behind over on the greens. It never seems to catch up to find that happy balance. The tow rope to get me back up the hill seems to work; here I am. Ready to fling myself off this damn cliff and see what happens. Again. This time it will be different.
I'll leave you with this quote from Jocko Willink's book Discipline Equals Freedom: Field Manual:
We are defeated one tiny, seemingly insignificant surrender at a time that chips away at who we should really be. It isn’t that you wake up one day and decide that’s it: I am going to be weak. No. It is a slow incremental process. It chips away at our will—it chips away at our discipline.
Ask me, I let these little surrenders get the best of me. There is no falsehood in what Jocko writes.
