Posted by: M.C. | 6 February 2011

Stop Sign

Outside the snow has begun to fall again, light and powdery. But it’s accumulating all the same, gathering on the ground. Each flake does what it does, following its path. Acting without plan or intention, it clogs roadways, breaks branches and telephone poles, brings our lives to a halt. Meanwhile, I sit here, worrying, trying to figure out what I’ll need to deal with tomorrow, next week, next month. I wonder whether I’m doing a good enough job; I berate myself for not getting enough done last week and go over in my mind the lists I should make and the people I need to talk with to be “effective.” I know, I know. I’m not a flake of snow. I’m a person, a human being with a brain and an intellect and the ability to imagine future actions and create a sequence of plans to reach an objective. Which means, of course, that I spend large chunks of my life groaning under the weight of the worries and expectations and the plans that I haven’t carried out. I worry about the wrong decisions I’ve made in the past and the wrong decisions I might make in the future. My life swings around me too much of the time, and my head swings with it, untethered and ungrounded. I keep thinking of the places (internal and external) that I would like to be, and they feel so distant that my thoughts paralyze me into inaction. These are the thoughts that pass through my head right now. But outside, the world just *is*. Trees stand bare in the wind; a few dead leaves still hang from them, coated with bits of frost and snow. Most of the ground is covered in white. They sky is gray overcast. And I dwell and dwell and dwell. My mind churns. I think that I should whip myself into action, but it’s precisely that urgency and gogogo that weights me down. Action isn’t the problem. It’s how to stop that I’ve need to learn to pull off.


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