I can make a mountain out of a molehill when it comes to responsibility. It’s my job to take care of everything for everyone within my sphere, whether it’s needed or not. It comes from a place of love. And perfectionism. And control.
With this sort of attitude, it shouldn’t surprise you that I can squeeze the joy out of my favorite things until they are only a smudged line on my “to-do” list. I can turn a pleasure into a dreaded obligation in the time it takes for a single thought to change from “This is fun,” to “I’d better…”
I travel to leave myself behind, and then I bring myself with me. I set up expectations of myself no matter where I am because I’m convinced that if I did anything once and enjoyed it, I should do it again. What I loved once, I should love in every situation.
Take blogging for example.
I love my blogs. I love to write. I love to express my deepest thoughts. I would have thought that even if I were writing into a silent world, I would keep clicking away on the keyboard.
I came on my retreat thinking…hooray…time to write. Time to read all my favorite bloggers.
My Internet connection is really LOUSY. Posting is frustrating. Commenting is often impossible. And I have learned to hate WordPress. I know. I feel guilty, but it’s the most difficult site of all to load.
And I’ve pretty much lost my interest in trying to upload a photo. For those of you who follow my travel blog, you know that even those posts are few and far between. By the time I get around to writing, find enough bars to post, etc.; I’ve lost interest in sharing my adventures.
So here’s the deal.
I forgive myself for loving to blog at home and not loving to blog here. I’ve already spent half of my month trying to do and be what I am there. It’s not working here.
Enough. The mountain is a molehill once again. It is official; I’ll post when I want to, when I can, and when those two miracles happen to align.