Why should I be like a dog that runs after every bone she likes to throw?
—Jane Dobisz, One Hundred Days of Solitude
Wrote two of my three morning pages on paper that wouldn't take ink. My pen skipped and my frustration grew. Starting page three, it was the same, but I wadded the page and tested sheets until I found a good one.
Subbing in good paper for bad every difference though it was the simplest of actions.
It's the difference between beating my head against a wall versus finding a door, window, gate, or some way around, over, or under. Better to choose a new way than to beat myself senseless trying to break through.
Good choices, even the smallest, make big differences, so I:
Leave the phone downstairs when going up to bed.
Leave election results to morning and even then look just briefly. I voted and encouraged others to vote. There's nothing left to do and no good in obsessing.
Deleted the Twitter account and have back hours, yes hours, I spent there daily.
At work, close the email tab and check the inbox just twice a day.
None of these is complicated or seemingly important, but the effects may become profound.
In finding a good page I "lost" two bad pages. Last night I "lost" the chance to spend hours wondering how the election would turn out. I have "lost" hearing the noise of the Twitter crowd. I've "lost" the distractions of constant email.
Which is of course to say that I've lost nothing at all.
These choices ought to be obvious, but I get caught up in accepting the page before me, believing I must be always accessible and on top of the news, feeling that social media matters and email is the most important thing I do. I get caught up in following the crowd.
My best choices are usually made against the current of trends and the rushing crowd.
And so I remind myself again: Don't blindly accept. Thoughtfully consider my own choices. And when in doubt, turn against the current, turn toward joy.
