To Be or Not To Be—Motivated

Of course motivation is not permanent. But then, neither is bathing; but it is something you should do on a regular basis. (Zig Ziglar)

I have at least an hour to work but I’m tired. A nap sounds like a better idea. However, this tired is the kind that seems to feed on itself. An hour of exercise or engaged activity will pull me out of it better than time under the covers. Besides, Ella is taking a nap. Okay, she’s in bed, but talking up a storm. She’s fighting rest time, and my chances of catching a few z’s right now are about as likely as falling asleep in a tent during a hailstorm.

I have my annual Christmas story to finish. There’s always another blog to begin. Or, I could weed through my novel and get the next chapter ready for critique group. Cleaning is too noisy when there is a little one “napping.” Fine with me. I did most of that yesterday anyway. I’ll wait for phone calls until later. Maybe, just maybe our little one will jabber herself to sleep and I don’t want to interrupt that possibility.

Stay awake, Ter. Be aware. Live in this hour as much as possible. Perhaps loss is inevitable, but I’ve seen too much of old bodies locked in geri-chairs, confusion, pain controlled—maybe—yet spirit dormant, lost in the past, smiles delayed or absent. I don’t want to stare at the ceiling prematurely.

It seems too important to live without regrets, to listen to my granddaughter’s sweet voice, happy, jabbering away. She isn’t crying, indignant because she was put in bed. She sings in her own style. Today she wins. She stalls long enough to avoid sleep entirely. Oh, I suspect she will pay eventually since she is young, not invincible. For now her chi vibrates with enthusiasm and fills the low energy places in my being.

Other-people oriented folk spread peace and joy. Of course that kind of attentiveness is intangible and can’t be measured. However, just maybe, it can make the difference between being a shell in a nursing home and housing a healthy, grateful spirit. Don’t know. I can’t see inside a paralyzed body. A spirit could be doing cartwheels unnoticed.

I think about the older gentleman who watches out for my father at the nursing home. He is profoundly hard-of-hearing and doesn’t recall events that occurred ten minutes earlier. However, there is a glow in his eyes that speaks of a holy motivation. I look for him when I visit my dad. “You’re looking good today,” he says. And I wonder, hope really, that he is seeing more of my soul than my physical appearance.

I can’t say. Chances are he doesn’t know my name. His memory is far too short. Doesn’t matter. Let me learn from the old, the young, and the woman in line behind me at the grocery who helped me pack my groceries yesterday. We are in this life to learn from one another. I’m awake now. I’ll rest when I am genuinely fatigued, and get myself going when I have a bad case of just-don’t-wanna.

(pic from the Optimism Revolution)

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