I live a life of calendar block days and red scribbled deadlines that stand in front of me as my progress falls backward. The spontaneity of my agenda comes from the different people in the same lines that I stand in at the same times every day. It comes from my radio that streams songs I don't know as I walk the same path to the same places, and it comes not from my mind, but from the minds of the same individuals I surround myself with. The details change, but the routine doesn't. My weeks are square puzzle pieces because I wouldn't know how to solve a jigsaw. I am made of a dozen post-it note lists and app reminders, of plentiful plans but postponed progress. I am ambitious about too many things at the same time, but ambivalent at the last mile where the color of the finish line isn't what I expect it to be.
Well what did I expect it to be, then?
The painful realization- my obstacle to realizing goals- is that I have so few expectations, the only emotion I know to feel at the end of a race is the desire to check off another box that I've written down somewhere.
When the day is over, I am happy to know that I have given my daytime away to actual pursuits, but sometimes I'm awake during time I intended for sleep, and I find that the only purpose I have for those hours is to question if I've even been pursuing the right things; if I'm scribbling the right deadlines down into all these block days lined up in front me like a boring puzzle of unrealized potential.