These past few days have been an interesting exercise in the pros and cons of trying to psych oneself out. Have I written my page? No. (But I'm trying to do so right now. Well, in a few minutes.) Have I thought about lots of other stuff I wanted to write here, but did not (and felt sad and frustrated as a result) because I vowed not to until I finished the other thing? Yes.
Today, however, I read this article in the New York Times, about a man who had four months to live and so finally said everything to his loved ones that he'd meant to say all his life, and also wrote a book. Then I went to a party for a dear friend who just had her second baby as a single mom, quite by choice. How will you have time and money for this? asked another, not shy friend. It'll work out just fine, said the mom. I'm not worried. Looking around the room at a dozen people who would always be around for her and her son and daughter, I understood the value of identifying the big things first--community, family, love--and trusting that the details--finding time to buy groceries, or write a d'var Torah--will somehow follow.
All of which made me realize I just had to sit down and finish the damn thing, since it's part of what's very right in my life and in no way worthy of any type of self-punishment. I must also acknowledge how truly stellar I am at the art of procrastination. If procrastination involved careening down a snow-covered mountain at top speed, I would have won multiple gold medals last week.