Procrastination - words of advice

Chatting with cousins last night at Joseph's birthday party our conversation ground to a brief halt as we touched on procrastination. The frustration we each felt about this weakness of ours seemed to block words that would have smoothed us to the next topic. Being older then they, I've since been indulging in thoughts of good advice. Happily for all involved, this afternoon I began to suspect this good advice is for myself, so don't need to chase them down and force my wisdom upon anyone. I've brainstormed amazing ideas, and sifted it down to one:

Imagine yourself doing it.

That is, in that moment that I decide it can wait for later or that I don't want to do it, I at least briefly imagine my body doing it.

For example I don't want to take out the trash just now, though it needs it. As I admit this to myself -- as I tell my inner nag no -- I at least think about standing up, walking to the garbage can, taking out the liner, replacing the new liner, walking outside, and on and on. It gets my body ready. I'm slightly looking forward to it, rather than slightly dreading it. And sometimes I realize its not that bad, and it do it. It seems to move the idea from one part of my brain to another. From the to-do-list, conceptual part, to the moving the body part. My to-do-list part knows how to sometimes not do.

The challenge is to do this every time my inner nag reengages me. My actions go where my thoughts are, in a sometimes inevitable path. For some reason there are times that simply the thought "I should take out the trash" isn't the kind of thought that leads to action. Imagining myself doing it, though, is a form of beginning to do it -- in the preparation step.

I need to respect my inner nag more.

The power (lessness) of Hulu

Rachel: Thank you for renewing my faith in the web's brilliance. Even if you may have been thinking you should have been doing something else.

***

Reviewing my visit with first-cousin Sarah L, (not to be confused with my other first cousin Sarah, or Sarah, the wife of my first cousin once removed, who all live beyond the grasp of Deseret, may I be allowed to join them one day)....I realized that I think of Sarah L as she was about five years ago, and even ten. At our previous meaningful conversations. And though the difference between 23 and 28 may seem small, not noticable in appearance like three years and eight, or 13 and 25, or "four children now", she is now the age I think I am. Which is to say grownup, with experiences, baggage and accomplishes under the belt. Many, many people are younger than a 28 year old -- the college students, under and grad. The recently graduated now adrift. All the returned missionaries, ages ago. The age everyone was when they married (or nearly all). 28 year olds have known so many people in so many wards, in singles wards multiply by fifty or more. I remember sighing recently (say 2006), when an undergrad student helper at work asked why I understood something (don't remember what). I clearly remember thinking: when you've lived three decades you've seen a lot, *sigh*. 

On review I did not honor the weight of history she carries. I remember in my mid 20s, younger than Sarah today, finding it difficult to blend with my singles ward for I had to pretend I didn't carry that weight. Trying to be younger, brighter. To forget, for example, the waves of fashion I'd already known, embracing the current as not only delightful but not new and simply absolute. This post has become my appology to Sarah. To all the things I don't know has happened, and wasn't open to find out. 

What drew me to write this arose out of deciding to review her blog, sensing at that point only vaguely that I had missed something important in my visit. A glance at a picture of she and a friend and for some reason it hit me in a shocking wave. The mass and volume of Sarah's history.  I checked and saw that her blog goes back years, how did that much time pass? I remember when she let us know she'd started it. Why didn't I read it then, what was I doing? That is the chunk of time that blurs together under "Job at SCI." How long did that last, about a year? The measure of time that once covered  life chunks: 5th grade then 6th. Maybe it was two years, because I changed offices in the middle. Add this unfinished chunk called, perhaps, "At home," unfinished so not a full year. Its been 2 1/2 years, certainly not 5.

I stopped at the picture, and moved to the end, which is the beginning, I Blog. Intending to read in a great binge, like a glance at Hulu growing to a lost month or three. But Sarah's words slowly woke me. Perhaps simply because its real life, my real blood. Her words directly connect my real experience. By the dozen mark, back in '04, Sarah's post accidentally urged me to goodness. I realized I wanted to stop, needed to stop. To go back to my life. Hulu does not do this. Hulu does not do this. Writing this post does not do this. I do not understand the ramafications of this. What does this mean?