It’s funny, how after finally having time to myself after eight months, I immediately turn into a huge lump of lard that just wants to laze in bed and read books. (Fact: I’ve read 10 books since leaving KPMG on 22 August. That’s ten books in two weeks.) What happened to all the grandiose plans of *ahem* helping the worship team, starting a creative arts team, editing that book, writing and blogging consistently?
It’s coming. I promise. I just need this laziness to run its course.
The problem, of course, with the fallacy of “running its course” is that the course never ends. The current of laziness and apathy and just plain sloth merely prolongs itself into infinity, because, you know, procrastination.
And the problem (since I seem to like defining problems) is that I think that my time is my own. That what I do or do not do has no bearing on anything or anyone but myself — but that is inherently untrue. The time I spent being a total complete utter bum yesterday could have been spent in building up the saints in church. It could have been spent drafting (or rather, redrafting) the mission and purpose of building a creative arts team in church. It could have been spent editing or rewriting any of the five (at last count) manuscripts for (eventual) publication. It could have been spent writing the book reviews I signed up for. But no — it was spent reading a book that didn’t need to be read (on any urgent basis), surfing facebook and the internet (or rather surfing the internet via facebook) and playing games on the iPad.
Is your laziness stronger than your passion?
Mine seems to be that way right now. The effort it takes for me to get “bum in chair, fingers on keyboard” seems like climbing Mount Everest; no actually, it’s like me trying to hike up Penang Hill. Penang Hill is at least somewhat possible no matter how improbable — Mount Everest will never happen. It’s easier to continue reading another book because “writers need to read too” but when you’re consuming at the rate I have been, it’s quickly becoming a gorge fest, with no end in sight.
Sometimes I give the excuse that I don’t do what I think I should be doing because I don’t know what to do. The truth is, I don’t know what to do because I’m too lazy to think it through, too lazy to work it through, too lazy to pray it through. I have vague ideas of what I think I should do, but really, I’d rather be reading the next book on my never ending to-be-read list. I’d rather just be talking about it, because, you know, talking is easier than doing.
I long for brilliance, but all I have is mediocrity.
You need 10,000 hours to become an expert in your field, isn't that what they say? All you need to do to be a writer is to write. There are all kinds of nice sayings about writing. All of it involves time - dedicated time - and hard work. There is time needed for reflection, for thinking, for planning, for drafting, for writing, for editing. There is a need for discipline.
Maybe I’m overreacting over two weeks of feeling lazy and anti-social. Maybe I’m just needing to be alone to recharge.
And yet maybe it’s true. Maybe this apathy, this sloth, this inaction is what’s holding you back from all you were meant to be.
I know it’s holding me back.
