Lazy is not a Four Letter Word, but $%&* is
I have been working pretty hard on my hustle lately. Like yesterday, I woke up at 5 am, wrote for an hour, sent some sales ideas and edits for a friend, wrote an article about what you should and shouldn’t say to someone who has been through a trauma, drafted emails to a bunch of different physical therapy schools to see if they might want someone who has been a patient to talk about their experience to give a different perspective to students, I followed up on all of my personal emails. After I closed my computer, I strapped on my sneakers and power walked 4 miles as I watched the sun rise over my sleeping Brooklyn neighborhood.
I got home and showered, made myself some coffee and then sat down at my computer to start my work day, and the first thought that came into my mind as I opened my laptop for the second time that morning was Jesus Christ Katie. You are so lazy
Let me repeat myself for clarity: Jesus Christ Katie. You are so lazy.
Soooooo, that was awkward.
From a young age I had been taught that in order to be successful not only do you need grit, but you also have to hustle harder than everyone else. I believed that pathway to success is built by working hard, by being intensely determined and not giving up until you have won. This frame of mind has been so incredibly helpful to me in almost every aspect of my life, but sometimes it can backfire.
I felt it backfiring yesterday morning at my desk. My frustration and anger at myself expressed itself as tears stinging my eyes. I went down the rabbit hole I dug for myself, and I started to think about the fact that I am still not as thin as I wish I was, that the apartment isn’t immaculate, that if I had been better, faster, stronger I would be more successful. That maybe if I hadn’t taken those extra 2 minutes in the shower that I would come one step closer to winning - but instead there I was, in front of this computer feeling like a failure.
I let the tears come, I took a deep breath, and I walked around the block until I couldn’t see any commuters walking to the L train, and then - out loud - I told that voice that has just made me cry, to go fuck itself. I continued to tell that voice that I was doing everything that I can, and if that shit wasn’t good enough then too fucking bad. And by the way, I truly needed those extra 2 minutes in the shower (I like to leave some conditioner on the end of my hair for a few minutes at the end of my shower, it feels luxurious and I FUCKING DESERVE IT!)
I continued in that vein, until I started to repeat myself and ran out of curse words. Then I stopped. and I exhaled. I shut my eyes, breathed in, and headed back down the blocks I had just walked down mumbling curse words to the mean voice in my mind, and I felt lighter.
I felt like I was walking back towards reason. As if with each step I was learning how to respect how hard I've been working. Although I'm not seeing the full results now, I do know that I am trying my fucking best – and today that’s going have to be enough.
Take those extra two minutes to do whatever you want to. You deserve it, I promise.