I should go outside today and walk.
The cold isn’t quite as bracing as it’s been the last week or so for my west coast bones, and I’m tempted to stretch them in the warm, bright sunlight somewhat like a fat, old lazy cat.
Tempted would be the key word there.
But if I ventured out to traipse back and forth through my old walking course in the neighborhood across the street, what would I think about? The thought is almost as scary as being stuck on an airplane without a book — nothing to occupy my busy brain. Nothing to worry about or to plan for, to gossip with a friend over. Just quiet. Well, and the occasional home owner who seems surprised to see a human walking down his street after his garage door opens just enough to allow him a line of vision. Interloper that I’d be, my presence would put him in the awkward position of making eye contact and possibly uttering a greeting, or more commonly, have to avert his gaze so as not to invite one.
I could use the time to prod myself over writing if I went for a walk. Or organize my plan of attack on the area of our house that is supposed to be a garage and is more like a junkyard right now. Or make some kind of a schedule for something. Anything. You know, so I can have one.
Aren’t people supposed to have schedules?
I think people have schedules to have them — not because they’re necessary. It takes time to plan them, and keep them, and check things off as you complete them. It fills the time in a day so that when your head hits the pillow at night, you can feel like you’ve been a good productive human instead of a lazy ass.
If I had a schedule, I would be well into it today, have my grocery list made, probably already have purchased and put away those groceries, and be up to my very sore elbows in some new recipe. (Minestrone sounds heavenly right now in case you’re wondering, but I’m struggling to decide whether that lentil recipe with orzo would be better….)
But I’m here instead, thinking about next week, yet another new year, and the overwhelming possibilities that come with that inevitable flip of a single calendar page.
All I have to do is reach out and choose.
It’s amazing, isn’t it?
For instance, I could write a book. I keep threatening to, but know that I’ll get around to it some day — after I have a schedule. The world needs another book about yet another human who overcomes challenge and adversity and still has a positive outlook on life, right? I’d definitely need a schedule to complete this daunting task, and would absolutely need to walk every single morning to get it done. I know this. Walking helps me sort out the tiny details as much as it also helps me unravel huge structural knots.
I could finally upgrade this site to 2.7 because I should have a long time ago. But where would the spammers get to park their disgusting crap?
I could flip the switch on my food blog since it’s been ready and waiting for the domain I’m paying for and haven’t used so far, needing a week to work out all the kinks I never quite understand. Actually, I will be doing that next week. Yikes!
I could make a list of resolutions to consider, but I’m never very good at that, so wouldn’t take it very seriously and would struggle not to put something on it like, “I will make sure I change out of my pajamas every day all year before 2PM.” What’s the point of taking off flannel bottoms if all I’m going to put on is yoga pants?
I could get a job, but then I’d have to have a schedule, right? And clothes, and, and, and…I’m still removing suit coats and trousers I no longer wear. Why would I want to start that all over again. God forbid having to worry about whether my sweater is five years old, or my shoes are not quite fashionable.
I could go on a health-nut get-into-shape change-my-life type permanent binge, but then what would I do with a new body? Write a new blog so I could tell others how they, too, can have killer abs? I know mine are under my middle age spread somewhere.
I’d rather say, “Let’s not and say we did” to it all right now.
But that walk is sounding kind of nice about now.
