On Leniency.

It’s 2 PM. I got up around 10 AM. My dad suggested we go lift at 9 AM.

In the past, this would cause me to feel bad about myself. I’d think, “Oh man, why didn’t I get up?” I’d also feel bad for not eating. I’m trying to gain weight, remember? Gotta eat.

But this isn’t the past. I observed that I feel fine. It’s a Saturday. Why should I care when I get up on a Saturday? It doesn’t matter when we go lift. It’s not my fault he can’t tell when I say, “I want to go at this time” and when I’m just humoring him to get him off my back.

But, more importantly, I felt like writing this morning. I’ve noticed I’ve had good luck doing early morning writing. Truncated, imperfect and all, I’m trudging on, trying to finish the novel. I’m throwing all transition to the wayside, all side-plot elements away. Just about every secondary character has disappeared. This is his novel. It’s disproportionate, this part of the novel COULD easily eat another 50K. But it won’t. I don’t have time to be perfect. I just want it done, which is the spirit of the endeavour.

That is to say, without even realizing it, I let it all go. I forgave myself for not getting up, I forgave myself for not eating. I shrug and say, “Okay, doesn’t matter, no big deal.” Do you realize I used to get depressed when I didn’t get out of the house “early enough”? What the hell was that bullshit? Who cares how long it takes? So long as I’m doing something I want to be doing, that’s what matters.

Anyway, I am rather hungry, and I do want to lift. I’m also out of chili spices. :: winkwink ::