It's funny what we find time for. And what we have every intention of doing, but somehow gets lost in the intervening hours between first coffee and laying head on pillow.
I haven't had a steady job or major time commitment for over six months. That's a long time, approximately 4,320 hours since I've had to get up, drive to work and hand over eight hours a day to another entity. I thought I would be productive. I thought I would have a solid writing practice, or record an album, or get really fit and learn Spanish better. None of those things has happened. And it's not because I don't have the time.
Instead, hours get sucked away staring into mirrors, analyzing new wrinkles, plucking eyebrows.
What is motivation, and how can I get some? What separates the doers from the dreamers? Studies suggest that extrinsic rewards - money, grades, recognition - are poor motivators, or at least not as good as once believed. It seems that intrinsic motivation, doing something for the love of it, is a much better indication of success. Well.
So why, then do so many of us ignore or put off doing what makes us happy? Why do I? Why have I seen hours of mediocre tv at the expense of having played guitar, finish knitting a hat, or writing a song, a paragraph, a novel?
I was talking about this very phenomenon at lunch the other day, with two similiarly challenged friends - why couldn't we muster the effort to do the things that were most rewarding in our lives? One, ever wise, said after popping a bite of sushi in her mouth, "I know. It's just like Crest Whitestrips. I never finish those."