I'm still unpacking boxes. Actually, I was worrying whether it will be possible for me to unpack these boxes. I'm tired after work, and I still don't have much furniture. It's hard to organize office supplies without a desk in which to store them. I had spent a good portion of tonight considering all that needed to be accomplished. The anticipation created a lake of molasses between me and action.
And then my sister texted and asked for a progress update.
I hadn't made any progress.
I got up and emptied a box, and then another. (The thought of disappointing my sister infuriated me.)The progress isn't noticeable and the books I did put away aren't organized chromatically on the shelves. But I have to trust that it mattered -- that I'll start someplace new tomorrow because of what I finished tonight.
What is possible may not be the most appropriate metric to gauge progress. There is a kind of implicit accounting that takes place when we invest in the possible but our returns fall short. I become wary, reluctant to try again.
I may have too many books (clarification: too many books for my bookcases at the moment) but putting one away now doesn't have to mean one less spot for another book later. I must trust that I can "make it work" - - thanks, Tim Gunn.
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