I did laundry instead of writing this evening. As I was shoveling towels into the water basin and scrubbing out chocolate stains, I couldn’t help but note that I was wasting my time. Sure, laundry needs to be done. It did not, however, need to be done that very second. There was no laundry emergency. There was no underlying denial that I was stalling, either. I was completely honest about the fact that I was doing chores simply to avoid sitting at my desk. That got me wondering about the things we chose to procrastinate on.
When the paths I chose to follow are habitually walked with intention, even if I end up clawing and clamoring to the end, why this random stray? If I know that the challenge is going to throw me out of my comfort zone, be painful, uncertain, or I am told I won’t be able to do it I am all the more for it. Yet when it comes to the one true passion I have held nearly my entire life, I get up and do the laundry.
Four loads later, I finally made it back my desk. Whites white and brights bright, I have permission to relax. The kids are in bed, the house is clean, and the dishes are done. I am all out diversions.
How do you stall when it’s time to write?
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