Just past 5 p.m., I was in the garage painting a shelf for our bedroom—the last uncompleted “must complete today” task on my list. If successfully finished, this would mark the first day since our move where I got everything I’d wanted done, done. My mental health was on the line.
I rolled the dusky violet paint onto the wood boards and tried to enjoy the process. I like painting. I like painting while podcasting, of which, an analysis of a recent Thunder loss played on in the background. But I was uneasy, restless, in the wrong spot at the wrong time. Still, I painted on, thinking completion of the last task would surely help.
Then, it spoke. Stop. I forged past it, finishing the first coat. Stop, it said again. I was almost done. It was getting late. I was annoyed. I dipped my roller in the tray. Stop. I set the roller down. I paused the podcast.
“What?” I asked it.
“Write,” it said.
“Fine.”
One sentence in, the restlessness vanished. A paragraph later, my to-do list didn’t matter. After thirty minutes, having satisfied it, I returned to the garage and finished painting the shelf in peace, no need for podcasting, nothing left on the line.
To livin’ a life we love,
Ryan Fightmaster, MD
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