Hats off to the organised, I mean it with full sincerity, those who know what they want and know how they are going to get it have my full admiration.
Sometimes I wish my middle name was, “I’m on it!” Victoria “I’m on it” Darby has a certain ring to it methinks, but it is utterly misleading. If not for the last minute nothing would get done in my world.
As I write this, there are a million other things I should, or could be doing, however, my internal guidance system seems to stall when either of those words come into play. There are many things I should be, could be, or would be doing (by now) if only my ideals didn’t so frequently flip into excuses. I have friends that make me look less organised than a one-legged man in an arse-kicking contest.
Truth is, I am lazy, and I enjoy being this way. In his truly awesome book the Lazy Man’s Guide to Enlightenment, Thaddeus Golas managed to sum my philosophy up in this nutshell: “Laziness keeps me from believing that enlightenment demands effort, discipline, strict diet, non-smoking, and other evidences of virtue.”
I like my window in the morning, and nothing beats my morning ritual of coffee and voyeurism as I ease my way into the day. I don’t think I am aided at all by my compulsion to write down every thought and observation that comes into my mind. I have a structure of sorts, but it is laughable compared to some people I know that manage to fit more into a day than god in the opening verses of Genesis.
One friend of mine goes so far as to call her Filofax her Bible: how to put the fun back into the mental frenzy that people go on, filling their days with things to do: to be seems to be out of the question. There are others I know that make so many lists; they have to make lists to keep track of them. Their lives are divided into a strange system of crossing off and adding on, always with a mental memo locked away somewhere tied to the image of a knotted handkerchief.
There is the old right hand brain/left hand brain debate to consider here, some people are just naturally prone to order, whereas others (me) dwell in chaos. I have some friends who would struggle to organise the opening of an envelope, yet have a standard to their work that would comfortable fit in any contemporary gallery anywhere in the world.
Yet the argument that artists struggle to sell their work is no longer valid: it is true that many artist of the past did die penniless (the Renaissance was sponsored by the Catholic Church, not known for their profit sharing schemes) But in these modern times we live in, the artist has reached the echelons of celebrity (this is perfectly outlined in the Banksy film Exit Through the Gift Shop – if you have not seen this documentary, I could not recommend any film more.) Banksy, Tracey Emin and Damien Hirst (like Picasso and Warhol et al in their day) can demand millions for their original work.
I digress, and although it was not to prove my point I think it underlines it perfectly: if I can’t keep control of the direction of a 700 word blog, what chance do I have keeping my hands on the compass of my life path.
As I have stated before, and I will probably state many times more, I do not believe in the existence of a “future.” (I believe it is thinking ahead that is stalling our species evolution) Therefore, planning for a future is as oxymoronic to me as the term Sports Personality. Even thinking an hour ahead is impossible: you always do all of your thinking NOW. And really, NOW takes care of itself, so the only thing that is left to us is our free will to make choices within the moment. After all, indecision is a decision-in itself.
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