The holiday season is often characterized as 'the most wonderful time of the year'. This has never resonated for me. The holiday season always serves as a reminder of things left undone.
There are things I didn't start. There are things I didn't finish. The holiday season is the least wonderful time of the year for me.
It's the season of self-flagellation. I beat myself up for not doing more. I could have accomplished more. I should have crossed more items off my list.
I gloss over the things I accomplished. I minimize them. I trivialize them. I sell them short.
Rather than celebrate what I did right, I fixate on what did not pan out. My inner critic is merciless.
It doesn't matter if I did my best. I fell short. I didn't go fast enough. I didn't go far enough.
This quagmire of self flagellation threatens to consume me. I struggle to breathe. I somehow pull myself out.
I put my shoes on. I don't stop to think. I just run.
I breathe deeply. I pick up the pace. The inner critic struggles.
I put the hurt on him running even faster. He gasps for breath. Unable to keep up, he hunches over. He capitulates.
I move forward. It's rarely fast enough. It's rarely long enough. But, I am still moving forward.
The act of moving forward gives me what I need. The potent cocktail
known as the runner's high intoxicates me and drowns the inner critic.
The self-flagellation ceases. The triumphs come bubbling to the surface. The victories become vivid.
Nothing went perfectly. Nothing ever does. But, the laundry list of wins easily dwarfs the short list of things that didn't go swimmingly.
I keep the wheels turning. I keep moving forward. I have no illusion I will cross everything off the list, but I will keep crossing off what I can.
I run because I haven't done enough...