Of Hairballs and Band-Aids

Started my day with a swim today. I was annoyed at yesterday's Big Dream Check-In. I mean, fitting in a half hour of exercise is not that hard! Why is it that when I was in university, I managed a full course load, a part-time job, tons of performing and still had time to get frequently and thoroughly intoxicated? And now, all I can do in a day is write and maybe (maybe) make dinner.

Is this about releasing the need to accomplish, accomplish, accomplish? Is it about recognizing the three hours of sleep that worked back then doesn't work now? Or am I just a lazy slob?

My friend Renee recently quit her full-time job because the stress was literally killing her. Everyone knows a full-time job is never 40 hours a week. It's 50 or 60. And then there was her part-time "fun" job, and the freelancing, and the condo board meetings. And her long-distance relationship. The girl ran herself into the ground.

I used to be much like Renee. If there was a 20-minute hole in my daytimer, I'd fill it. I think I topped out at nine jobs at once. One of them was full-time, too. Ridiculous. And what was really weird was that I was proud of this fact. I had a chip on my shoulder because I had absolutely no down-time and was a train wreck waiting to happen. Um, I don't get it.

But, I keep looking back at the Glorious Ironman Days. That year when I worked full-time and trained up to 20 hours a week. I ate incredibly well. I slept a ton. I drank lots of water. I was very, very healthy. And very, very busy.

Which, I suppose, is easy if you're stone-cold single, only hang out with triathlon people and don't plan on getting a lick of creative work done. Life is a series of trade-offs, I guess.

I'm not going to get all work-life balance on you here. But, I think there's something about creating the life you want. And working hard to make that happen. I want to be a full-time, self-supporting artist. I also want to be fit and healthy. And no one can make that happen for me...but me.

So, I think that might mean hitting the pool before I do anything else in the morning. Dodging the people who do that bizarre breast-stroke-on-their-backs thing in the Fast lane. Waving hello to the hairballs and grey-looking Band-Aids undulating at the bottom. Wondering why, when you are a slow swimmer, you wouldn't let the faster person tailgating you freakin' pass already.

Personally, I can think of very few other ways I'd want to start my day.