The quick fox jumps over the lazy brown dog. Everyone has written this sentence over and over while practicing cursive, keyed it onto the screen in front of them while learning to type. I am thinking about this sentence today, though I'm not sure if I am learning or practicing anything...
There are two kinds of people in this world. My mother, for example, is most certainly a fox. She is nearly never still. I am endlessly amazed by her endless supply of get-shit-done-ery. She operates on a frequency I cannot even fathom. It's hard to measure oneself up against a fox, and my mother was diligent in assuring that I knew which half of the sentence she felt I belonged in.
Maybe I am a dog. But to be fair, maybe "lazy" is a subjective view point. Maybe it's just the fox's opinion. Maybe the fox can't fathom the dog's need to chill out now and then. After all, the fox is far too busy worrying about survival needs to contemplate what life as a dog might be all about.
Still, even a dog has to think about survival sometimes. Sometimes a dog might wish for more foxy traits.
I know I have the ability to behave in a lazy manner (and at times I certainly do). But I don't believe that I am inherently lazy. I think, to a large degree, perceived laziness is just a difference in priorities. This type of "laziness" is just fine with me. The dog is in possession of a bit of zen in it's knowing the bliss of an afternoon nap. Anyway, he is probably re-charging so that he can go dig up bones later with gusto. If a dog is going to put effort into something, it's gotta be enjoyable. How can you happily dig up bones if your energy is flagging? Dogs are just built differently.
But then there is a darker perceived "laziness" which really isn't laziness at all. It is a debilitating lack of balance. It is an overactive mind stuck in high gear. It is a creative energy with no outlet. It is guilt over all of these things. It is a crippling disease for which I have found no cure.
The cycle goes something like this: I crave constant mental stimulation. I have to have something interesting to turn over in my mind. Creative urges well up that need some form of release. Except I have laundry to fold. Dishes to wash. A child to feed. A floor to mop. Meals to be made. A shower to scrub out. I probably wont be able to get to it all today, so I have to decide which things will get put off (and build up, becoming ever more daunting). Oh yeah, then I am also supposed to be studying all day so that I can work from home to be with the child. I'm going a little stir crazy from not having the leisure to read a scientific paper, watch a historical documentary, do research for a book I hope to write, paint a picture. Now I'm also feeling guilty about dull, endless, thankless chores piling up around me. (What would people think if they saw my home?) I'm also feeling as though I am letting my potential to be my authentic creative self be put off to wilt, tarnish, decay, the ultimate self-betrayal. Guilt. Inadequacy. Now my ever-active mind has only this to feed upon, though as this topic is fairly limited, it's only a matter of time before I've moved on to all my other self-doubts and insecurities. Now whatever stores of energy I might have had are being hemorrhaged at an alarming rate. Now I look around and see the insurmountable mountain range of tasks, chores, duties, and I just can't do it. I have nothing in me. I am vacant, empty, and now less worthy than ever before. Maybe this dog needs a pet psychiatrist.
I often think if only I could get to the place where I felt caught up, then maybe I could maintain my position. Oh, to be more fox like. I dream of a time where I will feel it is permissible to follow my creative urges, to pursue my more authentic self. And yet a voice somewhere within says even if I did have time at my disposal, I would squander it, wallowing in my own inertia, so maybe I really am lazy. I don't know where this voice comes from, (is it the fox?) but I don't like it.
Unlike the clear objective of the fox/dog writing lesson, the purpose of this mental exercise evades me. A quick fox that has jumped over me and dashed off into the woods before I can even pick up my head to look at it. Maybe I just need to embrace my inherent dog-ness and be ok with not being a fox. Maybe with enough practice my child-like scrawl will one day be the fluid and elegant script that I can see so clearly in my mind. A cool and confident brown dog, even if I am lying in the dirt.
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