I stopped doing 30 Uncomfortable Days because the universe played a joke on me and put me back into the role of caretaker for an overweight old lady.
It’s funny that if I was mad at her, or in psychological splinters the way I was last time this happened, I wouldn’t have made the overweight comment. Because if I said it maliciously, or as anything other than just a fact, I would have felt bad about it.
Anyway, I’m not doing uncomfortable challenges because they’re too difficult right now. Th word “difficult” there has a different meaning than it did when mamacat had her second accident that caused me to stop my challenges in the first place. I thought I couldn’t handle them psychological and also take care of her. It was true then. But now they are too difficult because I just don’t have time. I’m too busy hauling around an old lady, and too busy writing.
And getting paid for it.
Because that’s actually happening. Weird but true.
Will I go back to uncomfortable challenges? I certainly intended to, as soon as I could. But now I’m not so sure. Not because they were stressful, which they were. And not because they are difficult, which they also were. But because the whole thing worked.
I’ve conquered fear, and now neither vicious conqueror nor plague of demons can stop me.
That last might have been a tiny bit of a gigantic lie. I’m still plenty afraid of too many things. And it’s certainly going to make it difficult to move forward with what I want to do. But I got started. I jumped over the “it’s too scary to do any of this” and out into the jungle full of ravenous, jagged-toothed plants.
I just live there now. Or rather, I live in the badly tended garden full of slightly prickly plants that’s next to the tooth-plant jungle. I’m working on entering the jungle; I just have to practice my machete skills. But at least I finally took the machete of it its packaging.
But the main reason I probably won’t go back to uncomfortable challenges is that now I have a different problem. I’ve started writing professionally and I’m on that path, and I am confident I can keep walking it. For a few hours a day. Between episodes of Friday Night Lights. And all the time on Facebook. And playing Fallen London. And cleaning the house.
Distractions! Much like “fear” it’s a hilariously common and vague problem that’s difficult for a creativity-obsessed guy like me to admit that he has. And just like fear, it’s bloody poisonous. Distractions is a deliberately cute way of talking about this powerful toxin in my psychic bloodstream that is infecting my dreams and making my ambitions fester and rot.
Time management is not something I’m good at. Nor is avoiding distraction. Nor is impulse control, or motivation. Yes, I am much better at these than I used to be. I am also taller, but that does not mean I could pluck an apple off the roof of the Burj Khalifa from the ground without first getting zapped with cosmic rays and getting stretch powers. And I don’t give that any more than a 28% chance of happening in the next few months.
So my next goal is to do that thing I just talked about. What was it? Right, purge myself of the toxin of not-doing-the-stuff-I-should-be-doing. I wish I had some kind of fun little game about it that I could post and use social pressure to force me to stick to it. But everything I’ve thought of would make terribly boring blog posts.
Time management just isn’t a sexy problem, even with a cool supervillainy name like Temporal Toxicity.
I’m open to suggestion.