Get up and go
Get Up and Go has entered my timeline. Here she is again, full of ideas and ambition. She arrives a few times a year and, when she does, everything suddenly feels urgent. Everything needs doing. Right now.
The deep reflection of recent months is quietly pushed to the back burner, forgetting that it was those long hours spent wading through guilt, shame and swamp that untangled enough of me for Get Up and Go to walk back into the room.
But perhaps this time she doesn't need to sprint.
Sit on the sofa for a while. The springs have only just recovered from the last collapse. They've only recently been recoiled after carrying the weight of all that reflection.
Get Up and Go is not new. She has always visited. What is new is me noticing her before she takes over.
Usually she convinces me we should climb another mountain. We race to the summit, fuelled by possibility, until exhaustion wins. Then comes the inevitable collapse, and a small rescue team stretches me back down the mountainside. They don't need to say anything. They all know what happened.
Again.
So this time, I'm making you a coffee.
I'm placing a small weight around your ankles and asking you to stay exactly where you are for a little while longer.
Let's see what happens if Get Up and Go sits alongside Deep Reflection instead of trying to outrun her.
Let's see if they can learn to live in the same room.