This Week's Plate

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.