Let Me Be Lazy
What surprises me most about my life right now is how lazy I want to be. My life has always been:
List, list, list.
Plan, plan, plan.
Goal, goal, goal.
Check, check, check.
Now I want to sleep at least 10 hours a night.
Say goodbye to clients, projects, goals, commitments.
“No,” the choir shouts. “Not you. Are you depressed?”
I am tired.
Someone else take charge.
Write the list.
Make the plans.
Clean up the messes.
I want to nap on my 1800's four-poster bed and wake up without an alarm clock.
I want to let the day unfold instead of washing, drying, ironing.
This laziness is a surprise. Who will I be without all those doing labels?
Strategizing. (God, I hate that bureaucratic term.)
What surprises me is that the only label I want — if I must have one — is rebelling.
Rebelling for goodness.
For resting and being a sloth.
I despise labels as much as my younger self loved them.
I wanted to be a VP before 30 and president by 40. With a write-up in the Times, thank you very much. Check, check.
I am surprised at how silly and superficial my young woman was, though her story-worthy adventures may not have happened without her ambition, disciplined leaping, and plan, plan, planning.
I am surprised I now like to read about housecleaning.
Extenders for changing ceiling lights.
Homemade cleaning formulas.
The order of the process: dust, vacuum, wipe, mop. One room at a time.
This is no surprise.
I love to research.
Figure new things out.
Share my finds.
Give friends unusual tips.
I am surprised that I am often too lazy to clean, hike, lead, budget, create or cook anything too complicated. The figuring out and the so-that’s-how-you-do-it aha’s are enough.
Perfect outcomes are an illusion, too fixed in a world that spins unpredictably.
It’s no surprise that instead of cleaning I put on music and dance.
Then resting with a new beat that is slower than the old normal.
No, dear ones, I am not depressed. Just catching my breath after so many years of non-stop doing.
So glad you enjoyed the fruits of those plans, parties and money.
I’m lobbing the ball over to you. Not a hard slam but a gentle lob that will be easy for you to return. But please return it to somebody else. I may be lounging on the couch reading a novel or that new handbook about the ultimate all-purpose cleaning solution: one teaspoon of Tide power, a half-gallon of water and a splash of bleach.
Thank you for not worrying and allowing me to rest and hibernate this winter. I’m surprised how good it is to just be, except when I see a new spider web under the legs of the bureau. If I still kept lists, I’d note this. Oh well.
As for labels, I always like to cut them off.
Everything is softer without them.