You should see my toilets! I mean really, I have outdone myself. Without the option of running to Target for blehblehbleh, or even to Hobby Lobby for the frames the kids requested for some special papers, I had time on my hands this weekend. I cleaned our bathroom like it hasn’t been cleaned since, well, we moved in. I washed, folded, and put away four loads of laundry, and reorganized my pants in the closet. My jeans are lined up according to wash and run darkest through white. Amazing! I did a variety of other silly, seemingly small tasks that gave me a disproportionate sense of accomplishment.

It is a truism that we have exactly enough time for what we deem really important. I know, because if I really want to lie in bed and watch Judge Judy alone in the dark, I will “create” four hours for that nonsense. Same goes for working out, writing, cleaning, reading with kids, shopping, all of it. Getting honest with myself about time was freeing.

Want to know what I value, just look how I spend my time.

During the month of December, when my husband called me Lady Claus due to my frenetic caramel making, shopping, wrapping, returning, and general North Pole-centered behavior, I made time only for Christmas-ing. Everything else could wait like those Protein Shakes sitting in Costco for January to come. It was fun. I like all things Christmas, but I wouldn’t say it was fulfilling.

I have a stupid auto-text that I’m too lazy to turn off which automatically tells my friends “I’m driving right now, I’ll call you back later” when I’m on the go. Given the frequency with which this message goes out, it would seem I’m a professional bus driver. I fantasize about changing the auto-text to “I’m feeding the homeless right now, I’ll hit you back.” Or, “Sorry, in yoga. TTYL.”

In the car, on the go, off to this store, nope, now to that one, oh, and just one more stop, I gotta run up there and pick that up now drop it off, and…. time for dinner. 

I’ve been thinking a lot about where my time goes and how I spend my days, and it seems– I am allergic to holding still.

Of course I’ve known this for decades. Its hardly the kind of thing that sneaks up on a person. But in reviewing my recent days, its obviously spun out of control. I’m used to self-appraisal that results in an understanding that I am out of control. Still, the plodding required to find my equilibrium annoys me.

What do I really want? Who do I really want to be? What do I want my life to look like?

The answers to those questions are not found at Nordstrom Rack. They aren’t in the bottom of a bottle, a potato chip bag, or a glass bong. That’s all just procrastination.

My friend Jennifer Pastiloff (writer, yoga instruction, human extraordinaire) recently posted and blogged about her New Year’s resolution of no longer waste time (link to article) . She clarified, she didn’t want to totally quit wasting time because wasting time is her jam and there is magic in unplanned moments, but wasting time in the sense of complaining about feeling fat, and texting about hating aging/body/marriage/life.

YES. My insides screamed. YES. Yes. yes.

I have 6.5 kid-free hours a day right now, and what a gift that is. But they are gone in a flash by the time I hit a recovery meeting, run some errands (I think that is mostly a euphemism I use for all different kinds of shopping), and do a few chores. I’ll tell myself I need to go do the thing that matters most to me– that I need to sit down and write or edit– and the next thing I know I’m vacuuming the silverware drawer or running to the pet food store because we are out of bones. Poof. Another day.

For giggles, I Googled “procrastination” and Psychology Today provided this description:

“Everyone puts things off until the last minute sometimes, but procrastinators chronically avoid difficult tasks and deliberately look for distractions. Procrastination in large part reflects our perennial struggle with self-control as well as our inability to accurately predict how we’ll feel tomorrow, or the next day. “I don’t feel like it” takes precedence over goals; however, it then begets a downward spiral of negative emotions that deter future effort.”

“Deliberately look for distractions”– that line gave me that creepy feeling like when you hear a song on the radio and you are sure it is being played at that moment just for you.

The No Shopping Experiment is an effort to put a big fat red line through my favorite excuse-crutch. So it isn’t just about not shopping for clothes and the kids. Its about streamlining my consumer life to reclaim my time. And, I know, I know, you’re like, her poor Amazon Prime account! But no, that’s still cheat. Its like sneaking a bump of cocaine before heading back into the office.

Dear brain, sorry about the dopamine deprivation. I know you won’t be getting your mini-surges several times a week. We’ve done this before. We’ll figure it out. Regards, Owner/Operator. 

In the meanTIME, there are walks (I know, kinda lame, but I’m trying here), and all these other compensatory methods for sneaking little bliss hits. I built a website. Me! The girl whose father (and this is true) advised her to hire someone to design the webpage she was supposed to make for a basic college computer class. Me. I built this– a generic, not-fully-operational, unbelievably frustrating speck on the World Wide Web.

So take that White House Black Market jeans! Take that.