I actually love writing once I start doing it. It is really a mystery to me why I do not post more often. But this is another aspect of a characteristic that has been mine for a lifetime: the inexplicable reluctance to begin an activity that I know I will enjoy.
If I rise to find the day sunny and warm and beautiful, there is an even chance that I will not get myself outdoors for the entire day. I like gardening; I may have a bag of bulbs or a flat of seedlings or a new lawn mower, but never once in my entire life have I run out eagerly to get started. I will buy things I have wanted ever since they were invented and a month later the package will remain unopened. I ordered a big pile of mulch in May and 3/4 of it is still sitting in my driveway as I write in October. I could see myself winning the lottery and putting off picking up the winnings day after day. If a friend shows up at my door, I feel unalloyed pleasure and off I go to do whatever, but if I have planned to do the same exact thing with the same exact friend, I will regret the necessity to go through with it more with each minute as the time to meet approaches. If I have even the whisper of a deadline, I am almost paralyzed.
When I do not run out into the day, or meet my friend, or open the package, in what wondrous and desirable activity will I engage instead? Mostly moping about how dull my life is, and trying to find something to read, or watching something on the internet that barely holds my interest and which I will forget almost before it is finished.
I have sometimes put off a chore that really needs to be completed for days or weeks only to find once I finally force myself to do it, that it takes almost no time and very little effort at all. I know beforehand I will feel really good when it gets done, and yet, next time around it will be just as hard to get to it as every time before.
What IS this way of living? I look at others living with problems like a window that needs fixing and think, “Why don’t you do this or that and get it over with?” and yet I behave with the exact same amount of inertia myself. The best I can come up with is that I must have some deep fear of disappointment. If I open that package, the item inside will not work, or it will be harder to use than I expected or I won’t be happy with the results or some other disappointment will ensue. If I try to fix something, I will make it worse. I can imagine that I will be perfect at all the things I have never actually tried; but once I try things I am not naturally superb on the first try. And then it comes to practicing or trying again or whatever and the now diminished expectations make practice and trying and working on things unrewarding. The dream lasts until I wake up and actually get going.
