Well, it happened. I was counting on seamlessly getting through all 31 days but I skipped 2 days. Agh.
And you know what? It felt sooooooooo good. Sort of. I mean, I felt bad skipping, knowing that I’d just broken my streak but it felt good to not write. To not have to come up with something.
It happens every time. Like when you’re on a workout streak and, for whatever reason, you break your rhythm. A day or two or three go by and even though you feel bad, you also feel sort of good. That stress is gone because the challenge has been abandoned. I always feel guilty and disappointed for allowing myself to get derailed but sleeping in an extra 30 minutes instead of working out feels so incredibly good!
Then there’s the struggle to get back on track. Two days of not posting made it hard to decide to write this morning. Sure I want to get back and finish the last week of this challenge. But I wouldn’t have minded turning over and going back to sleep for a few extra minutes either. I got kind of comfortable not writing in the morning. Happens every time. Get derailed and I’m arguing with myself about whether or not I should get back on track. Of course I should! But it’s hard and I’m tired and, hey, 24 out of 31 days isn’t bad, right? And plus there’s the thought that I’ve already failed. At the end, I will have known I skipped. I messed up and won’t have a perfect 31 days to look back on. The perfectionist in me cringes.
I feel rather ambivalent about skipping two days. Part of me is really disappointed. Part of me just wants to forgive and forget and keep moving forward. And still another part of me feels too tired to care. For me, that’s the thing about challenge: when I allow myself a taste of an easier choice, I have a hard time keeping up with the hard thing I’ve already chosen to do.
Five days left in thirty-one. I’m seriously running really low on steam and I don’t want to write anymore. Sometimes I wonder, what’s the point when I’ve completely gone off topic? And then I remember the simple truth that writers write. Writers write even when they’re drained and don’t feel like it. And this is something I promised myself I’d push through and get better at. Even though I won’t have a perfect 31 days to look back on, I won’t allow my inner perfectionist to win. I want everything to be right so much, sometimes I miss out on the experience altogether. Holding out for perfect keeps us from having something that’s real and vulnerable and complete. It’s hard to allow myself the grace to just keep moving forward and sticking with an imperfect situation. I’m too fond of scrapping and starting all over again.
Not this time. Five days left. I’ve got five days left.