I feel like I have a very successful life. It's full. Overflowing actuallly. I have been told that I don’t know how to relax. On Saturday I woke up early, went to Lowes to buy a paint scraper, sandpaper and then continued to the nursery to pick up some ivy and spring flowers. I came home, scraped and sanded the table top that my youngest daughter had used to express her creativity some years ago by decorateing it with purple, pink and bronze flowers. I painted it white. I planted and then recovered all the chair seats. My thumb is still numb from sticking in the tacks.  In between I made lunch for the family. That is what I did. There is a much longer list of the things that I didn’t do that day.

I made a birthday breakfast for my daughter on Sunday. Got up early and made crepes, set the table, sliced fruit, grated chocolate….and I waited until she woke up so we could all enjoy brunch together. I only make crepes 3 times a year, for each of the children’s birthday. It’s become a tradition along with the pink balloon and decorations.

You might think that I have time on my hands, but really I don’t. I just seem to have a potent brew bubbling over with equal parts of procrastination and rationalization. Yes, I know that I am allowing everybody’s needs to rise to the surface, like cream.

Work feels like a retreat. Here I don’t have to think about all the things that I have to do. Here it’s simple. Here I create structure. Aha…I wonder if I can bring this structure that I have allotted to my work space home. I seem to leave it at the door in the same way as I leave the kids to miraculously fend for themselves when I leave for work.

I guess I could give up a little more sleep or maybe just give up a little more in general. I love my crazy busy life and everything that in suggests and consumes. But, I do need to carve some of that life out just for me. One hour a day. My inspiration time. That is my goal. Each day I will give myself an hour. The hour cannot be to do things for someone else. It can and should be working out, reading a book, writing – just something that makes no one happy except me. 

And here is the most wonderful gift in all of this. When we make ourselves happy it spreads to everyone else in our world!
Author:  Jacqui Markowitz