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That's All They Ever Do
“In a different time
On a different floor
I might mourn the loss of who I'm not anymore…”
Okay, first things first: It’s Monday. What do we with a Monday, especially one so dreary and hazy as this one? I suppose we wake up early and turn on the hifi, making French toast for the family members who want it.
We might drive the kids to school and check our email and pick up another bag of coffee even though you swore you were going to get off caffeine this month. Oh, well. There’s two more days till the end of the month; and it’s Monday, after all.
I suppose you remind the world that you’ve got another thing coming up and people had better act fast before it’s too late. You might make yourself another to-do list with a dozen or so items on it and then just hope for the best. Most days, three or four things done is a victory.
You could go for a walk and call a client and try to drink enough water and wonder if this really is a simulation and is that why every once in a while you seem to catch a funny reflection in a puddle or see a strange rainbow in the window? Oh, yeah. The birds are singing.
What do you do with the start of a week you never saw coming? Do you allow the subtle weight on your chest the attention it’s pleading for and allow all the feelings of insecurity to bubble up? Do you let that thing someone said to you so long ago still sit below the surface of your consciousness, nagging you like a mother?
Or do you learn to let it—all—go?
And, I mean, how does one even do that? What do we do when everything we thought we would be just might be a mirage—and life itself seems, at best, a series of thoughts and dreams that sometimes, maybe, come true?
What do you do with a day at all? Do you live it or try to control what you can, or attempt some combination of both, trying not to cuss or smoke too much as you stumble your way through?
I suppose what you do with a day like this is exactly what you’re doing, what we’re all doing. You try. You do your best. You take responsibility and make excuses, then tell yourself you’ll be better tomorrow.
I imagine you drink your coffee, say your prayers, and kiss your kids goodnight. What else can a person do? Maybe make yourself some midnight chicken and dance with the one you love, giving her that massage you promised at breakfast and look into those deep blue eyes and forget everything that ever was but this very moment.
Oh, yeah. That’s what you do. I forgot. I’m sure you’ll have to remind me next week.
P.S. Credit where credit’s due: newsletter title inspired by this song.
P.P.S. Last chance to sign up for the next author coaching group we’re doing. All the details are here. We only have five spots left, and we start on Wednesday. No plans to do this again any time this year at this point.
P.P.P.S. (I know it’s getting a bit excessive) I’m doing my first live subscriber Q&A (which I intend to do monthly with paid members only) tomorrow, January 31st at 5:00 p.m. We’ll go about sixty minutes or longer if there are enough questions. I’ll share some thoughts and answer any questions you have about writing, publishing, and whatever else is on your mind. I’ll send details tomorrow.