I was getting tired of seeing 5,600+ unread mail in my mailbox. What’s funny is I am also being bombarded with emails that say I should simplify my life.
So I did.
But it is harder than I thought.
As of press time, I still have 3,089 unread emails. And it is growing by 50 a day.
I am confounded as to why my unread emails became that much. I am usually overly zealous at reading what’s up in my world and everyone else’s. Looking at my 2008 emails (Gmail has allowed me to keep them), I saw that I had read each and every one. I do not know what happened between then and now.
Let us face it. It is not everyday that we see the world with rose-colored glasses. It is monotony that that kisses our faces day in and day out, like waves that do not fail to come to the shore; it is the humdrum of everyday life that besets us and pummels us into submission; the unexciting coming more often rather than the exciting. And yes, there is some comfort in that. The heart can only take so much – of happiness, of excitement, of something happening all the time.
But when you need to, how do you inspire yourself?
I did not want to go to the gym today, or to the seminar, or market a product, or visit someone in that faraway place. I just did not want to. It seemed to be much too much.
There was light rain. My bed had spanking new, clean, crisp white sheets. I was in the middle, curled up, roused by the idea of just staying there, and not moving. In my mind, it had the makings of a perfect day.
It was a Monday.
A doubt clouded my brow, I know that lethargy will come, and that if I do not get off that bed, I would miss seeing the day reflected in the eyes of the people who I would meet, new friends and old friends, miss what they have to say, miss what I would have learned from what they had to say, miss an idea or doing a good deed, putting in an investment, a day laid in waste when I could have flexed that muscle and got a few calories off, miss writing about what I have learned and expanding a thought that would form words that would form ideas that would form a story that I could live in – again – for a moment.
I rouse myself, get out of bed and go out. Out. The idea of missing life terrifies me.