Busy Days Eating Up My Dream Time

I thought I would take a break from the usual, instructional blog and share something a bit more entertaining.

This post is a horrifying account of how my days have been lately, far too busy with my day job while actively trying to create a dream life.

To quote Dickens, “It was the best of times, it was the worst of times…” The best of times because I can see the future I want clear as day. The worst of times because it makes the present that much more unbearable.

I share this simply to illustrate that what we must do can wear us down, but we must never let it keep us from doing what we want to do.

A Day in the Life… As of Late

As I sit staring out the window of my upstairs office contemplating my future life, the present life pulls my mind back down, like a cast of crabs in a bucket, yanking those attempting to claw their way out back down into their fateful prison. I can see the other side. My future. Hours spent working on delivering some creation of value. Focus on quality to such an extreme that quantity barely enters the view, if only to remind of its insignificance. Dedication to rest, relaxation, rejuvenation, and recreation. In short, the time when my average day is quite opposite of how it plays out now.

But there is little time to spend dreaming. I must wake as early as is physically and emotionally possible, leaving me with a mighty five-minutes to meditate. I set a timer so these precious five-minutes do not slip away. And then, with a ready-brewed cup of coffee, I can squeeze in ten quick minutes to journal my thoughts (which are surprisingly few, leading me to believe that the more we do, the less we think). If I’d prepared a big batch of eggs over the weekend, I’d throw something quickly in the oven to warm, but having misplaced the minutes I used to cook a quick breakfast with, the coffee will have to do. Hoping my mighty meditation squeezed some blood out of my turnip brain, I may be able to spit out a page of words before my digital master screams brightly: 7:00 AM!

I cross my fingers each day that something good comes out of those early precious moments, because it’s downhill from there. At work we’re run ragged like mules carrying load expected to win a horse race. For every load I balance, I’m gifted two more and encouraged to pick up the speed. The further we travel up the pass, the more those in the caravan fall out of line, handing off their load to lucky old me. The new bystanders are then inclined to run out in front of me unexpectedly, to jockey pieces around in my once balanced load, and to spend every other ounce of energy convincing others to gift me with more precious load. I begrudgingly carry on.

After the prime hours of the day have been beaten to a pulp, I return like a fighter after a long, losing battle. I turn the key and enter. The adrenaline, the product of too much coffee and a fight for sheer survival, leaps from my body and crashes to the floor. I ascend the stairs leading up to the main floor like an ascent up Mount Everest. Step. Rest. Step. Rest. I finally reach the main floor, hook my keys, and fall onto the bench to remove my shoes in slow, focused motion. I brace a hand on the bench to push myself up and and make my way across the kitchen, my shoulders hunched in as if they are bound tightly across my chest. I reach out with an arm to guide myself around each wall and finally lower myself slowly into a chair at the table in the dining area.

I’m offered a warm meal and some gentle encouraging words and, like a stray dog, slowly brought back to life. As my consciousness returns, I begin to feel the shape of my body, tight and twisted. I pull myself up in the chair, straighten my back, and pull back my shoulders. The moment my mind is satisfied with my posture, it returns to other things, and free from scrutiny, my posture returns to its tight, twisted state, causing my mind to return to scrutinizing once again. My mind and posture play this cat and mouse game until the mouse finally gets away and the cat concedes.

As the minutes pass, the horrors of battle slowly fade away leaving room again for other things in my mind. These things in turn multiply until I’m finally left with but a wonder whether the day was so bad at all. I thank my wonderful wife for the healing and return to the window again to dream.

How do you press on through busy times?