September ends like a box of melted crayons, color bleeding everywhere. Fall is finally here. I’m buried beneath it all, taking a deep breath and moment to rest. Bury me in leaves. Litter the blue sky with yellow and orange.
The whole world is shifting and ever the question: am I paying attention?
Sometimes I stop just to wonder. I stare out the window doing nothing, take a nap in the hammock, leaves fluttering around me. I feel my way, minute by minute.
Rest is always on my to-do list.
But so are other things: a few house projects, an unexpected project for work, a writing idea that’s been simmering in the back of my mind. I make myself a list every morning, knowing I’ll only get through half of it. I add items I’ll look forward to—finishing a book, stretching, art journaling—to everything else—vacuuming, sewing new pillow covers, helping my daughter with school.
Sometimes I wonder how anyone gets anything accomplished.
A few weeks ago, I read the best writing advice I’d seen in a while: “Your job is not to write a great story but to finish a story.” It could be translated to any task, not just writing. Finish painting the dresser. Finish redecorating the living room. Finish organizing the basement.
Beginning is easy. Finishing is where it counts.
I think of all the times I’ve stalled out or given up. Where I’ve lost track of myself and who I want to be. I’m no quitter, except that I am sometimes. And sometimes I’ll push myself far too far and refuse to quit when I should. When will I learn? When do we ever?
This is living, all its melty wonder, color and breath and work and rest. How does anyone get anything accomplished? One small step at a time.
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