I had the brilliant idea (again) that I was basically going to finish writing my entire novel on my latest long haul flight. I like, but also question, the hopeful – maybe delusional – place this thought comes from.
It's nice that the urge seems to legitimize my commitment to finishing the book, especially amidst several months of questioning whether it will ever happen at the snail's pace that I am writing. But it doesn't acknowledge the accumulation of mental junk that comes with my day-to-day life. Working a 9-5, parenting, commuting, coaching, etc etc. In a rare moment when truly faced with nothing to do, it seems I am happy to do…nothing. On another 15-hour flight, I slept a little, watched zero movies, listened to a few songs, and magically arrived in Sydney.
I'm not capable of this at home. I can't walk from one room to another without picking up at least three items, putting them where they are supposed to be, thinking of a better way to organize them, asking someone to put their shoes away, and writing myself a note about a work project.
I can plan to write all I want but my brain just needs to chill sometimes.
I think this is true. But I also think it's the lazy talk of someone who doesn't have the grit to get it done.
Anyway. I did try to print the book that I wouldn't have read or edited on the flight anyway, but the printer was broken and I’d left the task to the last minute and couldn't give it any more time. So I can blame my indolence on that.
Week 114: G’day
Some everyday: No
Words: 0
See you next week.
Cognitive load is just as wearing as physical exertion. Multiply that cognitive load by...probably a number I can't pronounce for a mother of small children with a job outside the home. Just keep showing up. Enjoy Sydney!