Shoelaces for Josie

So I do things like make bucket lists and eat copious amounts of greasy pizza. I read books to make me think about grandiose philosophical theories instead of the things in my life I’ve blown into overgrown elephants instead of their original frog-like sizes. (And also because I want to say I’ve read Tolstoy and Wilde and Proust?) I dive into years-long projects with my eyes squinted half-way shut so I’ll actually leave the precarious edge I’m perched on. If we truly had our eyes all the way open about most of the decisions we make in our lives, we’d never move forward with much of anything.

Before I know it, I’ve got a whole line of overgrown elephants stacked up in my backyard. Taking up space, eating my grass and blocking the sunshine. Even if I wanted to start thinning out the herd, I can’t because I’m juggling all the distractions I gave myself to ignore the original Fatty McFatterson who first took up residence.

While these distractions aren’t a total waste, (Some of them are – when will I ever need to quote Marcel Proust? I find stuffy academic debates to be rather overbearing, arrogant, and boring. Big words don’t impress me; other big things do. Like mountains.) they don’t accomplish what I originally intended. They never do, of course. Distractions simply add more clutter and chaos to mask the original clutter and chaos.

We all do it, I think. Dream up distractions to one level or another. It’s easier that way, for the right now. It feels a little easier to breathe if we can just push off some problems and focus on other things that aren’t quite so difficult. And sometimes it feels easier to add distraction after distraction until life becomes so crazy that it’s impossible to think about anything.