Distraction Station
This angle is really getting boring.
Before I get all self-indulgent, I have to mention one thing I noticed today on the way to work. It seems to me that women on bikes are just hot. No other qualifications are necessary. I mean think about it:
- They’re not polluting the air with a vehicle.
- They’re taking care of their health.
- They’re proving that riding bicycles is not just for mullet-wearing alcoholics who lost their driver’s licenses.
What’s not to love?
I also noticed that handlebar baskets and the ring-ding bells add to the attractiveness. They’re like nipple rings for bicycles.
Perhaps a slightly different angle on West tomorrow?
It’s Thursday, and I’ve been posting to my Personal Changelog all week long, and continuing the daily “Walk to Work” posts. This routine has helped me identify an arc to my days and the week overall. It’s like a character arc in a story.
Yup -- house is still there.
The most important thing I’ve seen on my daily and weekly arcs pertain to distractions and how to deal with them. My week starts out (Monday) and my day starts out (7:00 a.m.) with a lot of enthusiasm and good intentions. By the middle of the day and—on a larger scale—the middle of the week, distractions abound. I can see that previously, by noon on a Friday, I was pretty much doomed to swim helplessly in distractions, as the daily and weekly distraction components matched harmonics and grew to tidal wave size.
Maybe you can see Jon's paper there. I put it in his mailbox.
This week, however, my Personal Changelog has kept this phenomenon at bay. With specific goals, I’m able to pull back and objectively focus on something specific to keep me afloat in the midst of distraction. The thought of where my goals lead is enough to keep me from temptation.
This house is totally awesome. Riches from encryption protocols or something.
Having some notion of goals also helps me keep an even keel amongst idiots, naysayers, and general hooligans. When I’m confronted with pointless negativity—whether it’s criticism or just griping—it’s easier to just think in my head “whatever,” because I have something to help keep my eyes and energy facing forward. Without that goal on the horizon, it’s easy to get pulled in to drama that should really remain in the periphery.
Fate beckons me forward on the south side of Clark for awhile.
I’m already feeling a bit shaken here on a Thursday, however. I’m starting to question my goals, trying to make sure they are “the right ones.” As I approach the weekend, things become less structured. While I don’t want to be at work, being at home for the weekend is seldom relaxing, either. While most people think I should have plenty of time to work on my goals, events usually conspire so I end up with very little time. That’s not anyone’s fault—that’s just the way it is.
My “very short term” goal for this weekend is to not decide that drinking a six-pack is the only goal I can realistically set and accomplish.