Not ages, but a while.
I guess there are always lots of little things that occur to me and sometimes I think that I’m missing an opportunity when I don’t post something that other people may find interesting, moving, eyebrow-raising or even humourous. Except that I have found in my 36 years, I am a very poor judge of funny. In the UK, there is a TV programme called ‘Shooting Stars’. Every week, one of the hosts would tell a joke and the whole studio would come to an embarrassed silence and the crew would waft tumbleweeds across the stage to emphasise just how bad the joke was. I have more tumbleweed moments than even I would care to admit.
But this week, no thoughts have struck me in a way that galvanised me to blog. You know the ideas. The ones that make you think, “I must share this with the world” and out of my fingers, tapping furiously across my MacBook, pours literature.
Instead, all my waking time has instead been preoccupied with two things: the busyness of work and trying to make a decision about my future.
I’m not naturally one of the most decisive people in the world anyway. Where the decision doesn’t affect anyone negatively or even enhances someone’s life its dead easy for me to make. For example, ask me if I prefer pink, red, blue, purple etc nail polish and I have no difficulty at all. If you want to know whether your bum looks big in something, I can very quickly give you an answer. I don’t even mind too much if its what you wanted to hear.
But the decisions laying before me at the moment feel too tough to make. So I’ve put them off. In fact, my ability to procrastinate on these decisions is so good that I should be reclassified as legendary – I should be a legend in my own lifetime. But now the window is closing. Whatever way I turn I feel like I'm going to disappoint someone and I don’t have a strong enough feeling in me of what I really want to help guide me. Or if I do, my mind is hiding it from me right now.
Obscure film reference: ‘Wimbledon’ (the film). There is a scene where the tennis player’s manager is asked to chose which of his children he prefers. He has a boy and a girl. He responds incredulously saying, “how would you expect me to chose between my two children.” Then with very little prompting and as if it’s the most natural thing in the world he says, “my daughter”.
Why can’t I be like that?
Give me a choice between two dresses instead any day.