Why We Don't Commit: Learning the Art of Under-thinking it

Any fellow over-thinkers out there? It's January 2 and I am still noodling with my New Year resolutions, or plan or projects. Can't even decide on what it will be. 

What I want to do is to launch a new project: which I did yesterday after recognizing what was stopping me was my miraculous and overactive mind. 

I've set out to take a photo daily of White Rock Lake: a layering of a new series upon series I began in July of 2011. This time I will stand in the same place and I will study a view through the seasons: light, color, textures of the water and the shedding and growth of flora. I found the place to stand last night: a familiar dock: not the same dock as last year, and one I can rely on: the familiar nearby. 

I worked on how I will stand to make sure the frame is consistent. Can't do this project, I thought: I don't have a tripod. 

I wondered what will happen if I leave town. Can't do this project: I can't expect to be here 365 days...even in a pandemic. 

I considered my own boredom and the boredom of others Can't do this project: Won't we all tire of the same view? 

And don't I really need an IPhone 12 before I start this project? 

OR. Even though it was already 5:30 and late enough I just needed to start it. I don't have all the answers but I do know what I am committed to: 

I am committed to trying. 

I am committed to being in practice. My two new practices are "Walk" and "Write" daily. This supports both-as there I was and here I am. 

I am committed to a final result: in an exhibition or a book: a new way of seeing nature change slowly over time. This is mindfulness. 

And I am committed to hard things. It may be raining. It may be too cold, or too dark. And I won't want to. But it will be this word, this existence for trying that will put me there. 

I could have made it harder: to be at the dock at a specific time. I decided to meet myself in the middle of intention and effort: the practice is to capture the same view each day. This is enough. Knowing what is enough is graceful, gentle and a way of being inside of a commitment with integrity, challenge and self-care. 

Perhaps you missed the start of your New Year Intention: still thinking about it, too? Wondering why, how long and for what purpose? Is a pen or computer nearby? 

Start with this prompt, an excerpt from the poem "The Journey" by Mary Oliver: 

One day you finally knew what you had to do, and began... Write those words at the top of our blank page, set a time for five minutes and see what is there to be revealed.

 

Let the over-thinker be still for a moment and see how you can create possibility beyond the practical. How do you want to be in your beginning this year? 

And Happy New Year!