Is the time ever right?

Waiting for the right time is a favorite excuse of mine, effectively combining two vices with which I have a long history: procrastination and perfectionism.

Why haven't I done it yet? The time isn't right. It's too soon or too late. Or perhaps its too hot, too cold, too risky, too silly, too difficult, too obscure, too tedious, too overwhelming, too uncertain, too time-consuming, too distracting, too frustrating, too complicated, too easy, or too ridiculous. Alternately, maybe I'm too old, too young, too tired, too wired, too busy, too uncertain, too scared, or too angry to do whatever it is. In any case, I'm waiting for ideal conditions which will never arrive.

Yes, there are legitimate reasons not to do things or inappropriate times to attempt them. But let's be honest: that isn't what's holding things up. Not everything is worth doing, and certainly one person can only do so much. It's important to pay attention to all those possibilities.
 
For me, procrastination is too often wrapped up in the fantasy that if I can somehow do everything just right, all the puzzle pieces will finally fall into place. Everything will magically get done, and then I can begin to make conscious choices about what to do next. In spite of what I may want to believe, this isn't optimism; it's delusion.  

The ability to finally make conscious choices isn't some elusive reward for slogging through weeks, months, or years of mindless quicksand. Rather, acting consciously up front allows for the possibility of a different route entirely, a more mindful path, bypassing some of that quicksand.

Since my mother's cancer diagnosis in June and my father's heart attack in January, I've systematically put aside less urgent things, some of which had already been waiting for me for a long time. The interruption to my routine served as an invitation to pause and reconsider just what is most important to me at this point in my life. Not surprisingly, the answer wasn't taking the Christmas tree down by January 6, getting my office organized, or even finding a new job. 

Crisis management is sometimes a short-term necessity. As a lifestyle, however, it is neither healthy, nor sustainable. A brief season of avoiding rather vast areas of one's life may be needed in order to keep functioning at first, but at some point you have to face the totality of your new circumstances, whether or not the hard stuff is over.

Today, I am reminding myself that not every good idea which has occurred to me, can or should be implemented. There is great value in being selective and in letting things go. More is not always better, and waiting for the perfect time to do something is effectively a decision NOT to do it without the benefit--the freedom--of truly letting go of it. It's the worst of both worlds.
 
Further, once I fall into the habit of reflexive excuse making, I have essentially shut down a whole world of creative possibilities. Maybe doing things a little differently would make them easier or better. Maybe I could do some things in stages or choose to do only a part of something. Or perhaps it's just time to focus on completely different things and let those earlier plans go entirely.

Our culture glorifies busy-ness and selflessness, so it's tempting to try to get some credit in those departments by hanging on to absurdly long to-do lists and engaging in a little self pity on the side. But as long as I stay invested in defending my misery (...or busy-ness or martyrdom), I am far more likely to focus on problems than solutions. That helps no one.

I also get caught up in perfectionism: wanting to leave things on the list until I can be certain to do them exactly right or until I have completed the previous items to my satisfaction. But that day never comes. While my intention may feel righteous, it is actually quite toxic and only adds unnecessary pressure to what may already be a difficult situation. 

Reflexive excuse-making liberally sprinkled with perfectionism, has become a huge habit of mine, and I dare say I'm not alone. Habits are, pretty much by definition, mindless... unconscious. Yet periods of high stress, such as family health crises, are times when we need to call on our inner resources to make mindful, informed choices. If you haven't already established a practice of mindfulness prior to a crisis, it's particularly easy to get lost when chaos starts swirling around you. 

My parents are not only ill at the moment, but quite overwhelmed. They need a great deal of help right now, and I have become their primary caregiver. I very much want to make conscious, informed, thoughtful, and compassionate decisions. This intention requires me to be as tuned in as possible to what's going on. The best way I know to cultivate the kind of awareness these circumstances call for is a regular practice of mindfulness meditation.

In light of this realization, I've returned to the work of one of my heroes, molecular biologist, Jon Kabat-Zinn, founding Executive Director of the Center for Mindfulness in Medicine, Health Care, and Society at the University of Massachusetts Medical School as well as of its renowned Stress Reduction Clinic. Dr. Kabat-Zinn defines mindfulness as "moment-to-moment non-judgmental awareness, cultivated by paying attention." (You can hear him explain it a little more thoroughly here.)  

Present moment awareness is grounding, by its very nature. I can't make rational choices when I'm no longer in touch with what's actually happening right now. In a crisis, especially, it is possible to become so distracted by fears, pain, frustration, or any number of other things which seem to be engulfing you that you can lose sight of what you most need as the basis for wise decisions. 

Making choices based upon what I'm afraid may happen or what I want to avoid or fervently wish would or would not happen is risky, irrational, and further disorienting. It pulls me even farther away from who I am and what I'm about. When I begin to panic or act out of fear, dread, insecurity, or avoidance, I've lost my footing in the present. 

In continuing to negotiate my ongoing family situation, as I broaden my focus enough to better survey the bigger picture and reassess my goals and priorities in light of new realities, I cannot help but notice how different things look from today's perspective than they did only a year or two ago.

Rather than waiting around for the right time to do all the things I've put off while offering up excuses (mostly to people who aren't interested in the first place), I intend to begin to substitute--however imperfectly--the practice of mindfulness for the habit of avoidance. I'm not ready to speculate on where this renewed practice may lead, but my intuition tells be it's the right thing for me to do.