If there is a more easily distracted person on the planet, I know not who it would be.
Ever since I was quite young, I’ve found myself always looking toward the next thing. The moment I get bored with something, I start looking for something else to do, usually to the chagrin of family, friends, teachers, and employers. Sometimes it takes ten minutes, sometimes a year, but eventually, the only excitement my heart finds in my tasks is thinking about the next one.
Sometimes it affects me in small ways. Only half the dishes are finished when I get the divine inspiration for a new skirt that gets laid aside when I run out of thread which leads me to Joann’s to buy more where I get the inspiration to make some new pillowcases which leaves the skirt in my unfinished project box. The pillowcases take me longer than planned, which leads to me thinking about cooking dinner which leads me back to the fact that our dishes aren’t all clean and that I need to get food from the store. This leads to half a table of dinner and half a table of random sewing projects.
And sometimes it’s much bigger than that. I get a job that’s exciting for a few months and then it becomes monotonous. I start thinking about the next step which leads me to questions like, “What if I went back to school? What if I had a child? What if I started my own business? What if we moved to [insert state or country of your choice here]? What if I wrote a novel?” usually all in that order and within a five minute timespan.
My husband is so driven. He sets his mind to something and he sticks with it, seeing it to fruition with discipline and unshaken devotion. I. Don’t. Understand. It. I only wish I could decide on any one thing and finish it. As it is, I feel destined for nothing but a swirly, unsettled life.
Oh, to have a heart less restless.