Mondays are Mondays. There’s really no use in complaining about them or wishing they were other days located further along the week. Each cycle must begin somewhere and every week must have its Monday. It’s only a start, nothing more.
This particular Monday started off well. The week’s workload is light and I’m in a bit more control of my time. The evenings are going to take a little more out of me but my hope is with a few more hours of time and a little more space in my mind I’ll not only get through the tasks and to-dos, but have a little of myself left over for writing.
It’s been months since I touched my paper journal or my logbook. It’s been weeks since I’ve had a handle on a lot of habits I meant to keep up, but not writing by hand or documenting my days has felt like the biggest failure. I’m working on making time first thing in the morning, and perhaps doing different kinds of updates on different days depending on time constraints.
Perhaps half entries some days and updating only the next day on busier days filling up pages for the past days and filling in future weeks or months when I have a little more time? Perhaps nothing will get me back to the page, or to meditating, or to reading, or to taking courses, or jogging, or any of the other habits that have formed and faded over the years. Perhaps failure is the only habit that has endured…
That isn’t true. I have changed quite a bit over the years and only grown healthier, more mindful, more learned and disciplined with age. I’ve already missed so many days it’s hard to want to go back. It’s hard to swallow your pride, to forgive yourself, and begin again from the start. Denial of your faults is everlasting bliss, and procrastination means never feeling disappointment.
Purgatory may not be heaven, but it’s preferable to risking hell.