I’ve based a lot of my happiness around my environment being consistent. I hate it when my car needs repairs, my posters fall off the walls, or my furniture gets too dirty. My brain wants these things to be constant, so I don’t need to worry about them.
Reality doesn’t agree. Something always breaks and must be fixed or replaced. My environment is never “as it should be.” Whenever things seem smooth, something always goes wrong.
One response is not bothering to try. There’s always something wrong I could use as an excuse to not do what matters to me - to write. The lazy, scared part of my mind is drawn to them like gravity. I think all human minds are. It’s a cheap, effective way to lower stress.
But it’s not about things “feeling right” before I do something. It’s about working around what’s wrong so I can do what I want anyway.
These “it’s not the right time” excuses aren’t right, they’re just easy. And the easy path is rarely meaningful.