That is the question most mornings. Without an external schedule to guide me, setting daily priorities that are entirely mine to determine can be a challenge. Not that there aren’t plenty of choices - ongoing virtual contacts, volunteer projects, exercise routines, housekeeping chores, hiking, biking, sewing new masks, reading a growing pile of books. But when I wake up in the morning and first figure out what day of the week it is (never mind the month or year) I then realize that, beyond the few items actually committed to my calendar, it doesn’t really matter. I can do what I want this day. A surprisingly daunting position.
My best days are ones that have at least one pre-determined major task to accomplish, like cleaning and polishing the wood floors, trying out a new mask pattern, reorganizing computer files, pulling weeds, answering or cleaning up a long list of unattended emails, or the still to be addressed stacks of accumulated paper files, flies, and moths piled up in my personal writing shed. The longer that last task gets postponed the more the ‘out of sight out of mind’ strategy deploys. I have not been over there in weeks, partly in fear of the horde of moths that will confront me as soon as I open the screen door. Not to mention the dead ones on the floor I will encounter once I step inside.
But when I have accomplished one of those tasks, even if it only takes a couple of hours in the morning, I generally feel I have earned my choice of afternoon activity or lack thereof. I can enjoy my book, nap, or aimlessly wander around on the internet without guilt and with a delightful sense of earned pleasure. I need the kind of permission that comes with first meeting an obligation in order to enjoy a personal freedom. Allowing a day to simply unfold is an art I appreciate but have yet to master.
