Aren't we amazing?

When I say "we" in the title of this post, I'm talking about all of us. Everyone reading this. And everyone else, too. When I ask, "Aren't we amazing?" I'm talking about the amazing way we all find ways to talk ourselves out of something, before we've even begun. Most times before we've even finished the thought of that something.

It goes something like this (this just happened to me, right before I sat down and logged into this blog account -- after avoiding it since January):

Me (thinking to myself): I need to be writing.

Me: Why do I suck at sticking with writing?

Me: I know it's so good for me. I know it's what I'm supposed to be doing. And I'm not doing it. Ever. Not even at work anymore.

Me: But I'm so tired from work (where I sit all day, by the way), I can't deal with getting back in front of the computer after work. I need to veg out. I need an escape. That's what the Kardashian's were made for. I need that.

Me: This is so lame. This is so weak. What a sad excuse for not writing. You're a sad excuse for a writer.

Me: F this. I'm going to write. Right now.

And here I am. Writing right this very moment! (I can hardly believe it myself.)

But even in the time between thinking, "I'm a sad excuse for a writer," and getting my laptop, I'd already started this little dialogue.

Me: Here I go again. "Starting up my blog again!" How many times have I blogged about this? How bored are people with reading that? How many eye rolls are these words going to get? I am a sad excuse for a writer.

But I still got online and am writing this, anyway. And the reason is not just because I'm trying to feel like less of a "sad excuse." It's also because I know, for sure, that I'm not the only one having these talks with myself. I guarantee my writer friends have almost the identical one. I know my other friends have a similar inner critic about their lack of time for doing things they love, like hanging up photos they've taken, planting that veggie garden they've been talking about, taking their dogs for enough walks. We all do it. We all are amazing at it.

Someone: I should take Comet for a walk. She looks so sad over there. Ugh, but I'm so tired. I need to relax.

Someone else: I should actually use my camera. I'm so happy when I'm being creative! Maybe I could get paid for it! What am I thinking? No one would pay me out of all the other photographers out there. Anyone can point and shoot a camera. Oh, "Family Guy" is on. Click. (And I'm not talking about the camera.)

My point here is not to be depressing, or to give a long dissertation about how we're amazing at being lame. My point is that yes, we are amazing at being lame. But that's normal. Even more amazing is when we let ourselves not be lame. And not worry about what's next. This is very hard for me, but I busted through tonight and put something down despite it all. Something that I think is important, and something that I think can help that tiny sputtering spark in all of us to ignite ... if just for a night. Or an afternoon.

Maybe this way, the gaps separating us from our dreams will narrow just a bit. Here and there. And maybe we'll keep watching reality TV and inappropriate cartoons. (OK, definitely I will.) But we'll know that there's always the next moment to act. Even if it's after your favorite Bravo lineup. It's there for the taking. So when you think about taking it, just take it. And when you are cool enough to take it, enjoy it. And don't wonder what's next.

Ouch ... dates don't lie. It's been six months. But I'm going to write this anyway.

Most people would be embarrassed to have started a blog, let it go for a few months, then started again ever so enthusiastically, only to once again let it go for even longer. Six months, to be exact. But strangely, not me.

I feel a little lame, of course. Actually, a lot lame. But I know this blog is a good idea, so here I am again, Feb. 20, 2010, a whopping six months since my last post, getting back on the horse again.

If that doesn't inspire you to go ahead and do that thing you've been avoiding for so long, well, maybe something else will. But feel better knowing that you're not alone feeling lame about not doing something that you know is so good for you. You've probably let it go for so long that you're thinking to yourself, "What's the use? I'll just drop it again another time." That's what I've been thinking about this blog, anyway, for last three months or so. So, know you're not alone.

Naturally, it's that thought that makes me stop thinking about this blog and avoid doing it. We make ourselves feel so bad about not doing what we've set out to do, whether it's keeping a journal, cleaning out our closets, or reconnecting with a loved one we've lost touch with, that we just keep on not doing those things, and keep on feeling bad about it anyway.

Big or small, once we mess up -- or give up -- it becomes an easy excuse to keep up with the giving up (or the messing up, or whatever masochistic habit or lack of habit it may be).

Why are we like this? What's the secret to not being like this? I think the secret might be to have no shame. I thought I felt lame about starting this blog back up for the third time. But as I write this, I'm starting to see what I really feel lame about. And it it's not about starting this blog back up.

It's sharing that I've started this blog back up -- for the third time -- that makes me feel lame. It's thinking about what my friends and family will think when they get my enthusiastic e-mail that, "It's true! I've started my blog back up for the third time!"that makes me feel lame.

And so, the secret to not feeling lame, I've decided, is just have no shame. That's it.

I never thought past 28

I've been freaking out lately about my life.

It seems that ever since my 25th birthday, I never really fully embraced my new number -- or age, to be more specific. Not that 26 or now, 28, is old. Of course I know that. But, for some reason, I think I've failed to really know my age since my mid-20's. 

Let's see, how can I explain this?

For my whole life, my age was something I could just announce without thinking. I just knew it. I couldn't imagine not knowing it. Then, when I was buying some very girly malt beverages recently and the store owner looked at my ID and then asked me how old I was -- I couldn't answer. I literally hesitated, said 27, quickly thought of what year it was, and then said, "Oops! I mean 28. I'm 28. I can't believe I didn't remember that!" Followed by some nervous laughter and avoidance of eye contact. 

Um, who's nervous buying liquor at the age of 28? Someone who suddenly realizes she doesn't even know her own age so who knows what else could happen, that's who.

I left the store unscathed -- other than the disapproving look I got from the store owner who was probably hoping he wouldn't get busted for selling liquor to a girl who didn't even know the age on the "ID" she was using -- and I went on with my life. A little weirded out, but I didn't give it much more thought.

A month later, on a summer-like spring day, I started thinking about my age again. More specifically, I found myself thinking, "Oh my god. I'm only a year-and-a-half away from turning 30!"

This threw me into a different kind of age-related tizzy. This one was more focused on the question, "What the hell have I been doing for these last few years and how am I going to make up for all this lost time before I turn 30?!"

For days and weeks after, I found my brain landing on this topic a lot, wondering how I was going to accomplish all of these goals I'd thought I'd accomplish by the time I was 30. (Other than the fact that 30 is just a milestone age, it's also the number I always used to avoid thinking too much about when I'll have kids.)

"Oh, I'll start thinking about that when I'm 30," was what I'd been telling myself and most others who'd asked.

And now -- awesome! -- it's practically here!

With a year-and-a-half to go, you'd think I'd have jumped right on that big to-do list of "accomplishments" I had running, right? But instead, I just kept freaking out. Looking back, I was like a dog chasing it's tail. I'd think about this looming milestone, have a brain freak-out, forget about it a little, then think of it again and freak out again. This cycle continued for weeks.

And then something hit me one day. 

I never thought past 28.

At first, this realization seemed absurd. I'd think, "Of course I've thought past 28, and I imagined myself ... " Blank. It was blank. I really hadn't thought past 28. This is not to say I'm one of those people who never thought I'd make it to a certain age -- I've actually always imagined I'd live well into my 90's, for some reason. But what I'm saying is that I never really pictured myself in my life past this age.

There were things I'd pictured I would have done by now -- age 28 -- like meet my future husband (check), have a job I could be proud of (check), visit lots of cool places (check-ish ... don't want that one to be "done" per se). But there are other things I definitely want to do and accomplish, but I guess I just never really pictured myself doing those things the way I'd always pictured myself at this age.

I think it always just seemed so far off, like a version of me I couldn't really relate to. At least for me, when I was younger and in school or in my first job, the world just sort of seemed like it was at my fingertips, so full of possibility, so open to take me in so many different directions.

Hitting 30 has always represented a time when grown-up life starts, when things get more serious and more, well, boring. But I'm only a year-and-a-half away from that now and that's nothing like how I feel. So, I've been freaking out.

But not anymore.

I certainly don't feel like a "grown up" today, despite owning a home and being married with a dog and a yard and having a tax bill to pay (ew, that one sounds so grown up). But I'm starting to realize, maybe there is no scary, crappy day when you suddenly turn "grown up" you and become lame.

So if that's the case, then there's no reason why now can't be the future, right? What I mean is, I'm already doing the things I pictured that "Renee at 28" would be doing. I'm not, however, doing the things that I want "Renee at 30" to be doing -- the fun career and personal-life things, that is (Not the yucky tax bill kind of things ... I'm already doing that!).

So why not start right now?

Here I've been pretending that my age hasn't increased past my mid-20's (see liquor store incident, above) -- just sticking my head in the sand anytime my mind started to wander to the next big age -- when what I should have been doing was being happy about where I am today and working to do even more to keep it that way. Did I really think the 20's version of me would just disappear the minute the birthday clock strikes 30? I kind of think I did. And it could, if I let it.

But all this freaking out has lead me to realize what people are really saying when they repeat the old cliche, "This life is not a dress rehearsal."

It means that this is my life today, right now. It's running along this very minute. So I better stop wasting time wondering about what will happen when 30 comes and get back to living all the moments leading up to it.

How will I find the time to squeeze in all the fun I want to have and accomplishments I hope to achieve by then? Maybe I should start by quitting the wondering -- and, let's be real, the worrying -- and just do it. Today.

Perfect doesn’t beget clean

I was replacing the brush head on my electric toothbrush yesterday – a move long overdue due in part to the outrageous cost of these things and also to the even more outrageous way they build up a horrifying green goo that can only be described as yuck – when I realized something.

Perfectionists are dirty.

It’s completely counterintuitive to what most people and even perfectionists themselves would think.

Wouldn’t someone bent on keeping things perfect be one of the cleanest people you know? That’s logical. But it’s not always so.

Here’s how it works, or rather doesn’t work, at least for me. I like being clean, and like having the things around me clean and orderly. I think it actually gives me a warm, fuzzy feeling inside.

However, stronger than my penchant for cleanliness and warm fuzzy feelings is my need to be able to devote the amount of time it takes to achieve this perfect state of clean. And guess what? That time never comes. So I find myself tiptoeing by my nightstand so as not to disturb the dust that would most certainly land on my pillow should I exhale too forcefully.

And now I realize, it is this hate for living with dust that seems to be the reason why I so rarely dust! Maddening, isn’t it?

Here’s what’s going on inside my head at these intersections of life and dust: If I try to wipe up those nightstand dust mites, no matter how carefully I wield my Pledge-moistened towelette, some of that dust will inevitably go up in a poof and land on my pillow, which will then require I change the sheets, which might mean I’ll have to do laundry. And while I’m at it, I really should vacuum this rug while the sheets are off so none of the stirred up rug dirt lands in my bed.

But I don’t have time to do all this. So I tiptoe by the nightstand.

And this brings me back to the toothbrush. So long had it been since I’d cleaned out the hollow inside this thing – knowing that waiting inside was the sickening, electric-toothbrush-gelatinous-goo (anyone with an electric toothbrush will know exactly what I’m talking about here) – I actually literally shuddered and screamed when I saw what was in there. It was black, yet green, and looked most likely toxic and was probably not helping the cold I’ve been battling back all winter.

Here’s where that day’s light bulb went on – perfectionists, or just people with a few perfectionist traits, are so bent on doing things right and completely and to the best of their ability, that a lot of things never get done. Even important things. Probably especially the important things. Sound ridiculous? I know.

Sound self-defeating? Definitely. And therein lies the problem with doing things perfectly. You can’t. So save yourself from the toothbrush goo gone wild – or from putting off writing that job application until the perfect moment, or from slapping some new paint on your walls until you’ve sampled 42 colors in all lights of day – and just do it. Sure, giving it your best is great. But giving it your anything is better than not.