I was cleaning up my study one day. Applying my broom to the tide of debris shed by my half launched, half finished, half million projects when it hit me. Quite transfixed me and made me sit down and type:
I am incredibly lucky. I am blessed with an interest in many things and the skill to accomplish something in many of those areas where I have interest. Luckiest of all perhaps is that most of the little changes to the world that I get excited to work on are even within my financial means to pursue. I could do just about anything to which I brought sufficient will and focus. But I can not learn to ignore or overcome the nagging feeling as I attempt to concentrate on Y, that not doing anything on X would some how lead me to lose X. It is as if potential were as dear and present as one of my arms and I dare not slight any of it. And it has gotten so bad that indeed, I get little done on a host of ideas and projects.
Where am I going wrong? Granted, my pleasure centers fire oddly and connect in whimsical ways to the world. But aside from an instant itch to pick at another task the second the task at hand offers any resistance, why can't I apply to the organization of my own life at least the principles I do grasp? The itch is unconscious only for a minute. Awareness catches on but won't take control.
I see one word that I mistrust, that taints the here and now and makes the flow of my attention a weak current.
That word deserves to be weighed as critically as all the things it has weighed.