Standing still is hard

So today I was thinking about motivation. And the fact that I have none.

Well, not none. I have some. But my motivation is like rain in the desert. It comes in spits and spats, and doesn't do much to hydrate the landscape. And when the skies do open, there's nowhere to go with it: my motivation runs before it can walk, so I'm motivated to do huge life-changing things but not the small administrative tasks needed to achieve those goals.

I'm not sure how many others out there do this: chronically bite off more than they can chew. I emigrated twice, and might perhaps do it a third time, but I can't force myself to go to the library to print off CVs. How can that be? I felt frustrated by this, so I started to panic, and when I panicked, it made me anxious. It was a downward spiral.

Part of the problem, I think, is that nobody is willing to live in the moment. Nobody is willing to do something just because they feel like it, and bonus if it helps get things done. I read recently that one of the most beneficial thought exercises to try when you're feeling overwhelmed or unmotivated or guilty for being one or both of those things is to think, "Life is fine." It's to accept the way things are right now, and say to yourself, "Life is okay the way it is. I'm fine."

I think for people like me who internalize everything and panic incessantly about the future, so much so that our fear paralyzes us, can seriously benefit from this. Along with that refusal to accept the way things are comes guilt and self-loathing; feeling like a failure and feeling like life itself is insurmountable.

We won't ever get everything done. Our to-do list will never really be complete. All you can do is your best with what you have. I'm not sure if this advice will help anyone else, but it greatly helped me, to realize that it's okay, and you're doing fine, and stop treating life like you're the greyhound and its the little squirrel thing that they chase along the racetrack. When you worry and stress through life you miss the best things: not the huge obstacles or earth-shattering events but each tiny step along the way. Blue skies or a really good sandwich or when someone tells you their dog's name. These are the small moments that make life amazing, so slow down and enjoy them. Don't loathe your time on earth, or treat it like a job to be done. We're only here once, and for a small speck of time. We must be grateful for what we have.

Mother Nature doesn't want your stress tears on her upholstery.

She honestly needs to just bite him

So when I was moving from Canada to the UK I hit a roadblock in the shape of the fifteen metric tons of crap I'd accumulated over the course of five years: books and CDs and crystals, an incense holder, a yoga mat, a tripod, a collection of posters that I now hate, rugs and sweaters and pants and scarves, about seven jackets I never wear, all of my papers and documents, and of course my electronics (which for now are surviving on a transformer).

With absolutely no idea how to do anything, and floundering among seas of things that I kind of water to leave behind, but couldn't, I plugged 'ship stuff' into Google and found Seven Seas Worldwide. The experience was decent. Fairly fast delivery of empties, and you're supplied with bubble wrap and tape to boot. There's a shit-ton of paperwork to fill out, but it takes an hour tops; you can choose air or sea freight, but the latter is cheaper, though it takes far longer.

(This didn't irk me, since I don't foresee desperately needing talc scented candles or a wooden turkey with a bobbing head within the next two months.)

Honestly, the logistics of it wasn't the problem. The problem was packing. The problem was actually picking the shit up and placing it in the boxes.

Over the years, as a frequent mover, I've learned how to throw things away. Things are just things. But I've let my skill slide. I had to pry silly things like old embarrassing journals from my preteens from my claw-like hands and stuff them into garbage bags with the sort of agony reserved for euthanizing pets.

Maybe that's just a symptom of dropping down roots. When I was a child we moved frequently; after my first emigration my inventory was streamlined to within an inch of its life. We didn't take things, not only because we were shipping them, but because we didn't have anywhere to put them when we arrived. We didn't have a home. We had rooms, and those rooms had a short expiration date.

I don't know if it's a me thing or if it's a traveller thing, to have so little of one's own. Honestly, I don't begrudge it. In the end, everything I owned fit into three cardboard boxes, a book box, and a suitcase. And right now, while I'm floating, that's good enough for me.