I sit here this morning with my cup of "Texas Style" coffee at hand, tasting faintly of "cinnamon, chocolate and vanilla" pondering what I am going to write.
The day has already been a full one at 0630: dreams last night of a car with failing brakes (where did that come from?) ensured that my sleep was disrupted. I have performed my bible reading, prayed, did my study of New Testament Greek (Did you know there are at least four ways you can identify a pluperfect in New Testament Greek? Neither did I.), Gaelic, and Old English ("Here waes Eadward gehalgod to cinge..."). I ran: two days ago I came home drenched in sweat and today I had to run with a sweatshirt because of the weather change. I have packed lunch, eaten breakfast (half a grapefruit [ why grape-fruit? They look nothing like grapes.], one egg, 1/2 cup of dry oatmeal with yogurt), published and posted. I need only finish this, feed the rabbits, and I am on my way.
Why is this so often the most productive piece of my day?
It is not an idle question. I wish that I could be this productive throughout my day - in 1.5 hours I have accomplished more than I may in the next 10 hours. What is it that makes this a time of real production instead of just going through the motions?
What I am doing is one item. Everything I listed (with the exception of making lunch) are items which are me, which engage me, which brighten my world. By doing them I believe I am attempting to keep the "world" (so defined as the work world and my "adult" life) at bay, to maintain a shred of individuality that is still me.
Another element is time. This is the time I have to do these things - if not now, they will never find their way into my day as they will be swamped and thrust aside by more "important" issues that probably do not matter that much in the long run.
The final element, as strange as it seems, is success. I do these things because at some level I believe them to something that will give me a greater life in the end. Right or wrong I perceive that each of these activities will in the the course of my life better me, empower me, give me something which will allow me to move forward.
I look at the bottom of my coffee cup: gone but for the residual fumes. The rabbits are hopping about in the other room, patiently waiting for someone to feed them. The magical time has passed; the world is closing in.
And I wonder: what if all of my life could be spent on such useful things? How productive could I be then?
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