Been struggling. Distracted. Making up excuses as to why a book isn’t being read or why words aren’t being written. It’s all internal. Self-sabotage. Lack of discipline and control. All the goals posted up, followed by a lack of strive to reach any of them.
Sluggishly it all gets done… eventually. It’s always eventually. No restraints holding back. No blockages in the way. Just laid out excuses. If the effort put into coming up with reason as to ‘why not’ were directed into reasons ‘why to’, just imagine what could be done. Some factor, piece, of being human creates this slow stride. Self defeat is the only way. Deciding to do it without external motivation. Wanting the purpose more than the immediate gratification is a choice. But the gratification is incredibly alluring. A distraction. Make art when art is already made waiting to be consumed… why?
Pro-grade self deception runs the mind with effectiveness and efficiency. Overcome becomes possible once this is understood, accepted and combated with discipline. That which is lacked. All the goals in the world and such little strive to move forward towards them. All the things get done… Eventually.
Praised for all the accomplishments and all the projects still running, meanwhile the secret is of slacking and under-performing the entire way. Oh, how the truth would peel the paint from the walls and send riots to the streets in rage. Or nothing happens because it doesn’t matter.
Excuses laid forward to distract from the lack of effort. To so eagerly want to accomplish and so viciously avoid struggle is a fascinating dilemma.
Need to read more often. Let eyes wander on the page and consume. Get inspired and perform a personal dance of word development and sentence composition. It needs to be wanted. But it needs to be forced. It needs to be disciplined.
The aimless don’t do. The purposeful do without aim. Or something profound along those lines… Perhaps.
It needs to be a choice. Choosing wrong leads to limbo. Choosing correct leads to fulfillment and purpose.
Diving chest first into the blade of the sword. For the ache to inspire. Choices made in the name of purpose and infinite strive. The lazy coward knows not what it feels like to hurt in order to feel just enough to bring something out of fantasy and call it real.