Reflections on Limitations

This month was a long month. Not much went as planned. I didn't even make 5k for NaNo, posting fell off the map for a while, and not much reading happened. In "real life", my apartment fell apart, my mood sagged into a pit of self-misery, and my temper flashed short.

I don't have a good reason for it. There are some things I can point fingers at that made life difficult--the loss of a pet, a stressful, changing environment at what was already a high-tension workplace, putting in extra hours at work, fighting off a cold, or a half dozen other things. Some of those reasons are good reasons to take a moment, regroup, and reflect on life. Other parts, well, those parts are just life. Those were parts of life that I was capable of handling like a mature adult, but found every lame reason not to do so.

Instead, I found myself curled under the covers, binge watching TV while eating junk food, and dreading the work next day because I "couldn't" do anything else.

In short, I allowed myself to set fake limitations on what I could do and lived comfortably within those bounds, bemoaning how awful things had become.

Have a good attitude going into work? Nope. So and so was downright dreadful yesterday. I can't bear to work with her while having a good attitude. Who works 55 hours and comes into work with a good attitude one day later? Not me. 

Writing during some spare time at home? I'm already behind on NaNo. I'll never catch up. So what's the point of trying? It's a stupid story anyway. I've never finished something to the point of publishing it. Why do I keep trying?

Journaling? Does it even help? Why should I try? I'm so tired, and it's a waste of time. 

Clean the apartment? Tomorrow. I don't have energy today. I just want to lay here. Tomorrow I'll do better. How about today? Tomorrow. I still don't feel great. I don't have enough time after work. Even 15 minutes to do it will take too long. 

Take the dog on an extra walk because he's antsy? I'd probably feel better, but it's too cold. Maybe tomorrow. 

It quickly became a self-fulfilling prophecy of unproductivity and unachievement. I can't do that. It's too hard. Nobody even expects that of me. Why would I try? It's easier not to try. 

Too hard. Can't do it. Won't do it.

How many times are our perceived limitations just that--perceptions? What if we sat down, took a good look at ourselves, and asked what we could really do if we set our minds to it, if we let go of our comfortable limitations?

Now, I'm not saying that you should push yourself over the brink of insanity. The first two days of the month, I was legitimately taking some time for self care. As the month's gone on, I've been sleeping a lot, not out of sloth but because I can't even keep my eyes open at work as I fight off the latest bug that's been floating around. Pounding out NaNo words after getting out of work at 3 AM wouldn't have been a great choice in the interest of me being a functioning human being the next day. There's a time for self care and reasonableness and I trust you (and myself) to respect the limits we do truly have.

What I'm asking is, what if we push through the limits that we set in front of ourselves because going outside those limits would break our comfort zones?

What if we dared to clean our room because it needed done and we had a moment? What if we didn't hold back, even though we've always had a messy room so why change now?

What if we exercised even though we didn't feel like it and we never did exercise much anyways? Would we surprise ourselves by how far we could run? (If you're me, the answer is yes. Though, you may also be surprised by how much your calves burn the next day.)

What if we determined to show up to work with a smile on our face in spite of the slights our coworkers had given us, in spite of the stress, and in spite of the hours we've worked?

Our limitations are often a result of what we expect of ourselves. We expect to keep a messy room because we've always done that. We expect to not write because we haven't written the past three days. We expect to be grumpy at work because it's been a hard week. Then, rather than exceeding those expectations, we limit ourselves.

It hurts to push past expectations and limitations. We have to give up a part of ourselves that we've become attached to, begun to identify with. We have to give up our identity as someone who was never good at organizing. We have to give up our self-loathing over the fact that we can't write as often as we want. We have to give up our entitlement to grumpiness and brooding at work.

A lot of people in books became heroes because they did what "couldn't" be done. No one could reasonably expect to hit the exhaust port on the Death Star--after all, it's impossible, even for a computer. But Luke didn't let that stop him from giving it a go.

You don't simply walk into Mordor. Not with 10,000 men could you enter and destroy the Ring. But a three foot hobbit set out without knowing whether Mordor was left or right.

Likewise, working people can't possibly self-publish a book, or keep a clean house, or exercise, or do other things they love. People working long hours can't possibly muster a good attitude on a Monday.

Yet people do it all the time.

We scoff and wonder how they do it, say it must be fake, wonder what else they're doing to do what they do, and allow ourselves to whisper, I could never do that. 

That whisper becomes our safe haven, our justification for our limitations. I'm not like them. I can't do it. I'm not strong enough, old enough, smart enough, tough enough, resourceful enough... the list goes on.

But what if we told that voice to stuff a sock in it and gave it a shot anyways?

You're out of shape. You're not mentally tough enough to run 2 miles anymore. Oh yeah? I'll run 4. And this time, I'll take a hot bath so I don't gimp around for two days.

You just drove for two hours. Nobody expects you to clean the dishes in the apartment, so why don't you just be lazy and let them sit? Because the place has been messy too long and I have the time to clean, that's why. I'll do the dishes and clean my closet, too.

Your  workplace is full of people with awful attitudes. Nobody would notice if you picked up on the same tone. It's easier that way. Maybe it's easier, but it's not who I want to be. It's not who God wants me to be. I can at least come in with a smile on my face and be ready to work. I can learn from anyone, even if they can be condescending. I can be pleasant and professional, so I 'm going to be.

Why write if you're never going to get published? You've never finished anything. Maybe I haven't. But maybe I just haven't found the right story yet. And if writing helps me process life, it isn't a lost cause.

You're never going to be the smartest, or the toughest, or the best technician, or a best selling writer. Why bother? Because even though I might not be the best of the best, I can be the best of me. And I know I'm going to fall on my face and leave dishes in the sink and complain at work and not exercise and not write in spite of my best intentions, but I'm not going to let that become my norm. I'm not going to set those limitations on myself, even when I fail and fulfill only my basest expectations for myself. When that happens, I'm going to ask for grace and mercy from my Father, who knows all my failings and all my potentials. I'm going to ask Him for forgiveness and the grace to do better.

And then I'm going to dust off my bloody knees, pick up my pen, roll up my sleeves, stick a smile on my face and tell that stupid little voice in my head to go fly a kite instead of telling me what I can and can't do.