A Hundred Boring Days

I haven't written for a while.

Turns out, excuses are a hell of a lot easier to come up with than words.

When I try to write every day, or even every week, there are times when ideas just don't seem to show up. Like a lot of people, when that happens I start looking for a little external motivation or inspiration to keep things moving.

That being said, and as much as I hate to admit it, I signed up for an email that shows up, I think, every day. Honestly though, I get so many God damn emails it's hard to keep track of what shows up and when.

Recently, one caught my eye.

It was from Mark Manson. You might not recognize the name, but I'd bet you've at least heard of his book, The Subtle Art of Not Giving a F*ck. I haven't actually read it. Yeah, yeah, I know. I probably should. It's currently sitting somewhere on my ever-growing list of books I'll definitely get around to...eventually.

The subject line simply said:

Two Things For You To Ask Yourself.

What would you be willing to do for a hundred boring days?

What do you see when you look at your progress?

Well, God damn!

Butter my beer gut. There went every excuse I'd been clinging to for not writing.

For whatever reason, those two questions were the kick in the plums I apparently needed to get back to hunting and pecking all over the keyboard, hoping I might somehow put together something halfway comprehensible for the handful of people who are apparently bored enough to read the thoughts racing around inside my slightly-on-the-spectrum brain.

Now that I've managed to take a short story and make it much longer than it ever needed to be just to explain why I started writing again, let's dive into the questions that slapped like a step-parent.

Side note...I have step-parents, and not one of them ever laid a hand on me.

So...

What would I be willing to do for a hundred boring days?

Well, this turned out to be a much harder question than I thought it would be.

I've been chewing on it for a couple of days now, and after some mildly serious thought, I think I've finally figured it out. Whether any of this is actually doable? Shit if I know. But it's nice to think about the possibility.

As much as it would pain me, I think the first thing I'd do is get rid of my God damn phone.

I'd keep it because there are things on there that are irreplaceable, but I'd lock it in one of those time-lock boxes for a hundred days.

I've come to the realization that I, and I'm assuming most of us, rely way too fucking much on our phones.

I'd happily go back to the days of the flip phone.

For me, I honestly think that would be one of the healthiest ways to start resetting my rather warped brain.

After getting rid of my phone, I'd do my best to limit the noise.

And I mean noise is fucking everywhere.

It's on our phones, hence part of the reason I'd get rid of mine.

There's a TV around every damn corner.

Then there are the people who refuse to have a normal phone call anymore. Instead, they insist on FaceTime or some other video call while they're walking through the grocery store.

I DON'T NEED TO HEAR YOUR PROBLEMS, YOUR STRUGGLES, OR REALLY ANY FUCKING THING ABOUT YOU!

In fact, nobody cares.

Talk on the phone like phones were intended to be used, or go somewhere private.

God damn...just writing this is raising my blood pressure to an unhealthy level.

I don't know why people are so against it, but what in the actual of all fucks is wrong with a little silence and solitude?

There's noise around every damn corner in almost every aspect of life.

It's too much, if you ask me.

But what do I know?

Okay, now that I've calmed down and gotten that out of the way...

Aside from all of that, I think for a hundred boring days I'd force myself into uncomfortable situations.

Or at least try to.

I'd force myself to avoid certain temptations.

I'd make myself write every single day.

I'd love to try a few open mic nights.

Fuck...even typing that makes my pits highly uncomfortable, and all I'm doing is sitting my fat ass on the couch.

But I think that's exactly the point.

I need to put myself in uncomfortable situations if I ever want to overcome the insanities of my crippling insecurities.

I need to get out of my own way.

Maybe, just maybe, I'm actually worthy of the things I want for myself.

I'd love to get to a place where I don't spend my days sitting in an office. I'd love to be my own boss and answer to nobody but myself.

God, that would be divine.

Along with limiting the noise, I'd read.

I'd read a lot.

Not just because I love reading, but because I have to believe the more I read, the better my writing becomes.

Lord knows it needs all the help it can get.

So, I think that's my answer.

A hundred boring days spent limiting distractions, temptations, and noise, while focusing on writing, reading, and forcing myself into uncomfortable situations that might actually help me become the person I've always wanted to be.

The funny part is...

I'm probably the shyest person I know.

I don't even like presenting at work.

My face turns ninety-seven different shades of red.

My pits become Niagara Falls.

My brain starts looking for the nearest emergency exit.

I've always been that way.

I've never thought I was good enough.

I've never thought I'd amount to jack squat.

I've never really believed I was worthy of the things I wanted.

I could keep going, but I think you get the idea.

I love to write.

I love making people laugh.

But holy Mary, Mother of God, I am absolutely petrified to give it anything more than a community college try and see if it's even worth a damn.

Still...

There's probably some truth to the idea that putting yourself in uncomfortable situations, exposing yourself to the very things you're afraid of, is the only way to stop letting those fears make your decisions for you.

That's what I'd do for a hundred boring days.

Not because I think I'd magically become a different person.

But because I might finally become the person I already see myself as between my ears.

The next question was...

What do you see when you look at your progress?

At first, I didn't think I had an answer.

My immediate reaction was, “I don't have any progress.”

But the more I thought about it, the more I realized that probably isn't true.

A few weeks ago, I wasn't writing.

Today, I am.

Maybe that's not much.

Maybe nobody else would call that progress.

But I think I should.

If I had to guess what I'd see after a hundred boring days, I'd see someone who's simply a better version of himself than he is today.

I'd see someone who isn't afraid to stand up and try to make people laugh.

I'd see someone who's continually growing as a writer.

I'd see someone with a little more self-worth than he has today.

I'd see someone who isn't constantly shy.

Maybe none of that would be measurable.

But I think it would be noticeable.

At least from where I'd be sitting.

I'd worry a little less about what other people thought.

That's something I'm still working on as I type this.

For the most part, I don't care what people think.

Until I do.

Especially when it comes to my writing.

Or my humor.

Those are the parts of me that feel personal.

Those are the parts that are a hell of a lot harder to put out into the world than I like to admit.

Maybe after a hundred boring days, I'd finally stop giving so much power to other people's opinions.

Maybe I'd finally trust my own.

At this point, I feel like I'm starting to ramble, so I'm going to land this plane before I circle the airport another six times.

Even though it would be difficult, I honestly think a hundred boring days could be transformational for someone like me.

Not because I'd suddenly become someone else.

But because I might finally stop getting in the way of becoming the person I've always known was in there.

Now...

If I could just fucking afford to take a hundred boring days off.

Damn...there's always something.

And that something always seems to be the hardest part.