I drift off while cooking dinner into an essay about aging.
I slip away while changing a diaper—composing sentences about inspiration.
It's not the curse it was in school—this lack of focus. There is a blessing to be found in it. To have so many different places to go.
Harnessing the ideas into accomplishment is a challenge I haven't conquered, however.
For years I accepted it as fait accompli. You can't teach an old dog and so forth. But that doesn't sit comfortably in the pit of my stomach. How can I tell my son—who struggles with strikingly similar issues—that there are strategies, there is help, there is support—if I don't believe the same for myself?
Perhaps it's the milestone in my life that will occur tomorrow (when I turn forty) that has me looking at what is left. Not what has come before.
So I will write the essay on aging and compose the paragraph on inspiration — and so many more. Eventually.
I will put one foot in front of the other as it were. And forge ahead on the journey to my best self.