There’s always something else I ought to be doing. Always some reason why now isn’t a good time to try and focus on writing. Procrastination seems to be a talent that comes hand-in-hand with creativity.
But what am I putting off? Something unpleasant? No, I love to write. Just like I love the endorphin rush of a workout session, or the satisfaction of finishing a coding project that’s been sitting around for way too long. And yet I keep allowing other things to come before these things that I claim to love.
Procrastination puts off the work, yes, but it’s really putting off the experiences we love. And substituting them with what? Mindless acts, muscle memory. Doing the dishes. Cleaning out the fridge. Anything but what I swore was my larger goal. Yeah, the scary mass at the back of the fridge really did need to go, but am I happier for losing half the day to a task that was decidedly not on my to-do list?
In November, much as I love earning my NaNoWriMo merit badges, I really must vow not to allow Procrastination to become the most-used tool in my creative toolkit.
(Procrastination Case-in-Point: I wrote this post days ago, but was waiting for the photo at the head of the article before posting. The patch was sitting on my desk the whole time. Often, just inches from me.)