If my house ever gets robbed, I'm betting the burglars will be sorely disappointed - unless they were librarians in a past life. It's pretty much full of books and not much else. I love to read. (My Mom, Dad, and Nana are the same way, so perhaps it's genetic.) Recently, I realized that I wasn't getting as much out of my books as I could be. I would complete one and move on to the next, without always taking the time to digest the primary lesson or apply the principles. Going forward, I decided that I would trade quantity for quality.
Even after I grasped yesterday's revelation that action leads to motivation (not the other way around), I still wasn't out of the "mud." I knew I needed to take action, but I often couldn't bring myself to do it. Often, I was literally stuck. Then something very odd happened yesterday morning. My alarm went off at 5:15 am, as normal. I turned it off and snuggled underneath the covers, convincing myself that I needed an extra hour of sleep more than I needed to workout. After all, I was tired. (It's been a brutal few months by any standards, and I've got at least another 30 days of this pace.) Then I found myself in the kitchen at 5:35, getting a spoonful of almond butter and a banana. I don't even remember the minutes in between. Getting in the car at 5:40, it dawned on me what really happened.
Falling down sucks, particularly if you've climbed a little higher since the last time you fell down. It hurts more. The bruises and scrapes are little deeper. Then the mental games begin. And they're far worse than the physical ones. It feels like being stuck in mud as far as you can see. It takes all your strength to simply stand up, and then there's no clear path out. It's frustrating and exhausting. What to do?