“Just keep going. You’re gonna make it.”
That was my mantra last week, which I repeated at least 3,389 times. I was so sick and stressed that finding a positive thought seemed like cleaning the Augean Stables. No way I was going to meet my deadlines/continue living.
Five years ago I would’ve thrown in the towel and wallowed in bed for a week. But this year, I had a game plan.
You can’t go into work anymore without a full-body shudder.
The thought of doing whatever it is you’ve been doing for a couple years today is insufferable. Lately the only way you’ve been able to eek through the day is to fantasize about that big fat career change, and how much better life will be when you’re actually doing what you want.
Which is basically anything but what you’re doing.
My best days used to drive me insane. One day I’d lose myself in the golden bliss of a perfection–nothing could phase me. Then the next I’d step on a tack straight from bed, bump my shin on the coffee table, spill coffee from said table on my groin, and curse and scream at minor inconveniences for the rest of the day. Like an r-tard.
If I could be high on gratitude and joy on any given day, what exactly was stopping me from doing it every day? After I asked this question, I started taking notes on all of my days to find out. And I began to see a pattern emerge: