Column: Readers, motivate yourselves and be proactive
Published Oct. 8, 2010
A priest, a nun, a wizard and two blondes walk into a bar. The bartender says, "Hey, what is this, some kind of joke?"
Don't laugh too hard. I stole the base concept from an anonymous user on a forum thread. To protect my remaining strands of dignity, no more details will be disclosed.
Now, I believe I've successfully lassoed up your attention or, at the very least, used up some of my required word count.
Hey...did you hear that? My God — it's happening. The great gypsy curse of 1994 has finally caught up with me! What shall I do?
Are you still here/there reader? It's me, Mary! Don't be confused. Are the question marks ok? You still there? You shouldn't be.
You really shouldn't: Go away. Can't you see I'm stalling? Do you get it? This is the point of the article.
There comes a time in life where you're desperately going to want to make forward progress. You will desire nothing more than a spark of momentum. The path to success will be clearly laid out. You will have access to all the tools necessary to make your dreams come true. The road to achievement will sparkle right in front of your eyes -- the sun will be shining, and the birds will be chirping, and the chorus will be singing.
And yet, you will go nowhere. You will be stuck like a stick in the mud, like spinach between buckteeth, like a fat man in a very narrow doorway.
It is during these hopeless, deadpan moments that you'll try hard to motivate the stubborn spirit inside. And what's the best you can do for yourself while under creative comatose?
Well, here are a few options for symptomatic relief: complete a creative writing exercise, maybe even real exercise, read some self-help books, have a good nap, a good meal, a good talk, a good walk, a good hobby, academia, anything to stay occupied. Pick and choose, of course. You can't do everything at once.
Answers! We need answers, a cause and cure to these mental roadblocks.
I'm in the experimental phase with this one, dear reader. I'm in a "6 a.m. and I haven't slept" place with this one, dear reader. But here's what I've cooked up anyway:
This incapacitating feeling rocking some of our worlds right now is a product of fear: absolute and total fear, fear-mongering fear, a ferocious fear.
Lately, I can't move. I can barely get out of bed. My pants don't fit. And it's because I'm terrified. It doesn't matter that I've been given an all-expenses-paid opportunity to better my life; I'm paralyzed by the daunting uncertainty of my future. What if these possible realities I've constructed for myself don't work out?
Well, something will have to happen. After all, we change. Ten years ago, I was set on becoming an archaeologist. Five years ago, I had dreams of Olympic gold. Today, I just want to be a radio DJ.
We are in a time in our lives when it's hard to say where we'll be in a month, much less 10 years from now. Relationships will crumble, dreams will change, poorly handled situations from the past will come back to bite your ass and hopefully, you'll grow. At some point, most of us are going to get let loose into the "real world," an environment, I've heard, that forces you to think on your feet and adapt.
Maybe you're scared this week and can't get out of bed. Maybe it's even best you don't. But time is starting to speed up now, and if you don't make an effort to conquer your fear and make a move at some point — well then, hell, you're setting yourself up to fail.