Great Ideas Neglected

I hate it when I have a great idea for an essay or a blog post, but I can’t sit down and work on it at the moment.  Too often, the great idea escapes me when the opportunity to document it finally arrives.  Oh, I know the best answer is to jot the idea down quickly and refer to it later, but it usually seems so awesome that I am certain I will remember it. Alas, I do not! 

For instance, I had a Part II to yesterday’s post.  I think it had something to do with “How much is not enough,” but I can’t remember for sure!

Here is what really bothers me.  If I regularly write in my mind and delay putting pen to paper or finger to keyboard, can I really call myself a writer?   I know I am a runner because I do it often enough (and other people see me pounding the pavement) but what defines “writer?”  I have an author’s Facebook page.  Is that what it takes to be legit?  I published a book in 2008.

 

 

 

That was over four years ago.  Two blogs and a couple of online gigs can be added to my portfolio, as well as, a column for Blue Circle Sports.  For some reason, we writers think that dollars validate our talents.  Maybe they do and maybe they don’t.  This much I know – those of us who write HAVE to write and those who don’t write have trouble understanding why we feel compelled to write.  Maybe it’s an addiction.  Better yet, maybe it’s therapy.  You see, this 300 word post just helped me clarify why I write and where I need to focus my efforts.  I took the time to document it.  Maybe tomorrow I will remember why I write!

If you win, I lose. Really?

There is an idea being widespread that, in my opinion, is both false and disturbing.  Many in today’s world, especially in the USA, are under the impression that if one person is wealthy it will automatically make another person poor.  That is like saying, “If she loses weight, it will make me fat,” or, “If your house is clean, then my house must be dirty.”  It simply does not make sense.

In my world, those who have more money not only spend more money, thus contributing to economic health, they also give more to charity, thus helping those in need. 

Surely there are those enslaved in poverty from which they have very little hope of release.  They often had no hand in creating their circumstances. However, to blame their poverty on the wealthy is an incorrect assumption.  This is not intended to be a political post, rather an observation of a thinking trend that is handicapping all of us.  If we adopt this attitude, we deny our own accountability. Think about it.

“I am unhealthy because there are too many fitness fanatics around. It has nothing to do with my choices to hang out on the sofa and eat junk food.”

“I didn’t finish high school because there were too many smart kids in my class.  It had nothing to do with my failure to show up for class.”

 “If he has four cars, then there will not be enough cars for me to have one, because he bought all the cars.”

Have you got the picture yet?  Here is one more just to help you see …

“If he is happy, then I have to be sad.”

It just does not make any sense.  However, it is a very effective tool for those that would have us remain in a state of unhappiness and discontent.  Denying one’s accountability only fosters an attitude of disappointment and inevitable failure, because there will always be those who succeed and according to popular thought, if somebody succeeds others must fail.  Don't get caught in this thinking trap.

That is my opinion.  What is yours?

Hoarder or Procrastinator?

Just like it was yesterday ...

Okay, I’ve admitted that I am a bit of a hoarder.  See this post. I am beginning to wonder if I am truly a hoarder or if I just can’t measure the passing of time.  Hmm?
For instance, my husband and I were visiting a friend recently who confessed that she used to paint her walls every two years.
“Wow!  I probably haven’t painted mine in like … six!”
Hubby cleared his throat and informed me that it had been much longer than that!  I had no idea!
The same thing happened when I went in for what should have been an annual cancer screening.  (It’s the one us girls would prefer to have a car ran over our rib cage than endure.) 
“Um, it’s been a couple years …” I confessed.
“More like eight,” the not-so-cheerful receptionist muttered.  Who knew?
Today I replaced the well-used quilt covering my bed with a crisp new coverlet. It’s like I have a new room!  Now I probably won’t have to paint the walls for some time yet.  After all, it’s only been … oh … ten, maybe twelve years …