Three months ago, I foolishly complained that I was too busy. It seemed to be one thing after another, with no rest in between. I’d just like a few days off from life, I said. Ten, or maybe eleven, weeks later, I know to be careful what I wish for.
With no time pressure, it is hard to stay motivated. The adrenaline of a deadline drives me to get started. When time stretches out, it is so easy to put things off until tomorrow. The dull, dreary and difficult tasks that I really don’t want to do can wait. Which just means that I end up worrying about them for another 24 hours, when I could have knocked them on the head and buried them.
Motivation has been in short supply for a couple of weeks. I needed to prepare the financial accounts for a voluntary organisation; I’ve done it for years, this is my last year. It’s been far too sunny to sit indoors looking at numbers, creating an unusually slow and lethargic process. It was a struggle to get started, and an even greater struggle to persevere on to the end. The finish line is in sight, but it’s been a marathon.
I’ve not found much motivation to run either. Some days, it has felt too hot for running. But, the weather is cooler now and the accounts are substantially complete. Maybe this granny will make the time to put on her running shoes again.