So far, so good. I suppose a two day commitment shouldn’t warrant an applause, but I’m handing out self satisfying pats on the back regardless.
Today I have managed to tackle a few nagging bullets on my to-do list and I’m feeling pretty great about it. (Rule one of this year is going to be appreciate and enjoy even the smallest of accomplishments). Finally I deposited my work bonus cheques, (from Christmas), cleaned out my over-flowing closet, paid a parking ticket that I’ve neglected for weeks and meticulously collected together paperwork in preparation for rental applications. Even now, while typing up this entry, I’m successfully checking off a box on the old ‘Get it Done’ list.
It seems so simple and, (for lack of a better word), lame to be smiling a little broader for de-cluttering a closet, but here I am, beaming. I’m smug and satisfied and it’s completely comical. I feel as though I’m more deserving of the tea and book sitting next to me.
There’s always pride behind stepping up to a responsibility and in this case I’m counting it as a win towards my commitment goal. It’s not like a messy closet is a fear, but watching and letting something become disorganized in my life seems non-committal. I should be committed to bettering myself day in and day out and that shouldn’t need to be through a massive task or daunting goal. Cleaning and tidying my material life seems like a sound commitment considering how easily I shrug off a pile of clothes draped carelessly over a chair with the excuse of being tired. It takes just seconds to hang my jacket up when I get in, but instead it gets tossed onto the pile with little thought because the ease of being lazy after a hard work day seems gratifying. When I look around at the mess accumulating though, I feel drained and irritated. Why not commit to shedding that self-inflicted annoyance?
Cheers to a year of keeping track.