Disclaimer: This post is intended neither as a complaint nor as a pat on my own back. Please take it simply as statements of fact and accompanying reflections.
I've started a few different posts this year in which I intended to express some honesty over the struggles I've had the last few months, but I had a hard time putting it out there without sounding ungrateful. My life is awesome. I have an incredible husband, intelligent kids, a beautiful new house, a great job, plenty of friends, hobbies I enjoy... it seems completely unfair that I mention that some days I can barely convince myself to get out of bed.
But yesterday, my friend Amy re-posted a great article that helped me consider my exhaustion from a slightly different perspective. Go ahead and read it here if you're interested.
Interestingly, I really don't find myself comparing my plate to that of others. I have always firmly held to the following beliefs:
- Everybody gets to pick their own priorities
- It's totally okay to have different priorities than mine
So when somebody says, "I don't have time to sing in the Ward Choir," I promise I really don't think, "You don't have time? What are you doing with your 24 hours." Because I know that I really do get to chose to put the things that are on my plate on my plate. And I generally like having them there!
No, my problem over the last 10 weeks or so has been comparing my plate to my previous plates. 3 years ago, I performed in 3 shows, directed 2, and was completing my Masters degree. And I felt vivaciously full of energy and like I could conquer the world. I pulled all-nighters to get it all done. I bounced right back and did it again! I hiked. I read. I worked. I blogged (a whole lot more than I do now).
Now, I do the things I committed to. Mostly. I feel like I am getting things done, but not particularly well or in a particularly timely way. I procrastinate terribly. I do very little I feel I can be truly proud of, and there are piles of things that just don't get done. Literally. Piles.
|My bedroom floor|
What's wrong with my plate?
The other times I've tried to write this post, I didn't dare. Every single thing on my plate is a good thing. A thing that makes me happy. A thing I want to do.
But I probably wouldn't sit down and eat everything on the dessert plate all at once. [I say probably because I actually might. But that would ruin the metaphor.] I purposefully created the graphic to include things I love. Things I have a really difficult time turning down. But if I ate every single one of those, even over the course of a week (that's 2 desserts per day, folks), I would feel physically weighed down. I'd probably get diabetes. The doctor would probably tell me I could never eat frosting straight out of the can again. And where would I be then?
I still don't know what's wrong with my plate. Why it seems to have suddenly shrunk and refuses to hold all the desserts it once held. But I don't want whatever the stress-level disease is equivalent to diabetes, that's for sure.
To be honest, I'd rather fix the plate.
But since that doesn't seem to be working, I may have to pass up a few desserts.