I am basically terrible at finishing things. When I moved into my new apartment a few weeks ago, my mom made me promise that I would “actually move in, and not just live out of boxes.” The cardboard ebeneezers of my failure dot my apartment landscape (workin’ on it, mom, I promise.)
But that’s the problem for me. I’m always working on about 89 different things and like a squirrel at a picnic, get easily distracted by the next shiny object that arrives. Call it classic ENFP/middle-child-syndrome/laziness but crossing things off my To-Do List is not one of my top skills. But today, I finished something neat.
My mom sent this photo a while back of my great-grandfather Minert Thompson aka “Grampy” as my Dad would say. It was on the edge of complete ruin and I’m a bit of a wiz with photoshop so she asked if I could fix it. Months later (ugh sorry mom) I did.
Not only is there release in accomplishing things, but putting something broken back together again is special kind of high– like crossword puzzles and working with teenagers. It also means I have enough energy to throw some of these boxes away… and that’s enough progress for one day.