Lazy
I have several neuroses but one of my biggest and least discussed is my fear that I am lazy. On Saturday, I ran 12 of the most miserable miles ever—uphill the entire way, 2 10-minute emergency un-fun potty breaks and 3 hours later, I reached my final destination. That last mile was pure death-shuffle. At mile 6, in between stomach flips, I texted my husband about my (ahem) situation. He asked me if he should come get me and I said that I only had 6 miles left and I just needed sympathy. The truth is, I felt like I would see myself as lazy, a quitter if I didn’t finish.
This fear of laziness extends to my career as well. Maybe if I worked harder. committed myself more, paid more consultants to tell me what to do, sacrificed more to afford coachings and lessons, maybe then I’d be living my dream. Hell, maybe I’d have more than a handful of blog readers if I were less lazy and wrote every single day.
I don’t know if it is real or perceived. Maybe it’s just another way of trying to make sense of this difficult time I’m having trying to figure out what I’m going to do when I grow up. Maybe the laziness thing makes me feel like I have some sort of control in my own destiny. Then again, maybe I just need a Belgian waffle. Suggestions welcome.
