Let's jump right in.
There is an Implementation, Part 3. There is also an Implementation, Part 4. There are ideas to explore and explain that have the potential to enrich your life and mine: relative versus absolute income, the art of triangulation, the business of working in other cities (not just from home), value-add profitability and trampoline justice.
But I’ve been too busy to write. And too bored. Too nervous, too hot, too tired, too excited, too in love, too heartbroken and too afraid too.
I’ve been too distracted.
Then, after to going to The Best Yard Sale in the History of Yard Sales this past weekend, I lay down for a nap in the cool of my bedroom to escape the heat (and other hot topics) and drown in sleep. Through a hazy mess of snooze and slobber, spiny slivers of thought stormed. A line:
There is nothing like a housing crash, professional catastrophe or personal crisis to sharpen the point on which your priorities balance.
Something in me, or out, reached through my muddy slumber and slammed my lids wide. That’s a bloody good line. Dude, you gotta get your butt up and write that shit down.
But when I got my butt up to write that shit down, ideas rushed and ran me over. I tripped toward the keyboard. My fingers fumbled, barely keeping pace with the outpouring of Points To Be Made.
I slowed in the overwhelm. Then stopped. Then panicked.
Think. Don’t think. Wait!
Think. Don’t think. Shit! Don’t let go!
Think. Don’t think. Ugh. Why is it so freaking hot in here?! It’s MARCH!
The ugly truth is that with an efficiently executed distraction-free lifestyle, comes a lot of time to think. With a lot of time to think, comes a lot of abstract distractions. These distractions are, of course, my thoughts. Large, hairy, noisome, foul-smelling, gelatinous thoughts. Thoughts that tempt me with overwhelm, stop me in my tracks, then throw me into panic.
This realization, of course, got me thinking.
For after spending my morning at The Best Yard Sale in the History of Yard Sales, at which one of the proprietors explained how the experience of holding his son while singing and strumming the guitar simultaneously quietens his mind and sharpens the point on which his priorities balance, drawing out his fear and fueling his art by drowning out all but the realization that being loved frees you to consider that you, and all that you produce, might be worth loving, all I could truthfully do was think.
I thought about love and art and music and friendship and family and priorities and trampolines and naps. I also thought about the unusual heat for this time of year. My travel plans, my upcoming birthday. Time. And the Beast That Is Distraction.
Then I lay down to slay that beast in my dreams.