Trudge slog clomp plod

We can't go over it. We can't go under it. We've got to go through it.

I am curled up on my bed. Knees tucked up high, nestled into my chest. I feel like I’m waiting for something to happen. I’m not very good at keeping myself motivated for long periods of time. I have short winds and bursts of enthusiasm that quickly die off if I don’t see any immediate returns. I’m impatient. Nearing four weeks of job hunting I’ve worked out my application to interview conversion rate is at 4%. Roughly 25 applications are landing me with a single interview. Yikes. It’s all pretty dire. My get-up-and-go has gone. 

The thick cloud of doubt is rolling in. Am I actually any good at what I do? I’m at a stage where don’t crave or need validation from others, at least not all of the time. But the volume of my own voice when it comes to words of encouragement, reassurance and pep talks is slowly getting quieter. Whispers of ‘you’ve got this’ becoming easier to ignore. The lines start to blur. Although my paid job is completely distinct and separate from writing, I start to tell myself I’m not good at either. Or anything at all. It becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy, a haunting carousel ride that I can’t jump off. Me on a garishly painted horse just going round and round. 

As I write this, typing away on the notes app on my phone from my bed, my fingers are freezing cold. The first truly beautiful day in ages passes by outside my window. Icy blue skies are clear, drying out the mulch of damp leaves. That’s what I’ve been missing most about this year’s transition of the seasons. The leaves. It’s been so consistently rainy and wet outside there’s no crunch underfoot. The autumn colour palette is a true wonder for the eyes, but it’s the sounds autumn brings with it that I love the most. My dopamine levels peaking as I walk determinedly through a big pile of crispy leaves and twigs. I have deja vu of already sharing this with you. So nice, you get to read it twice. 

Swimming and reading feel like my only constants. They’ll never leave me. I can depend on both solo activities to whisk my mind away somewhere for a little bit. Accomplishments I’m in control of. My swimming is stronger than ever and I’ve been hitting new personal bests. Albeit my reading needs a bit of a shove if I’m going to reach my Goodreads 2023 target. I’m getting there. Okay, okay… maybe there’s a sense of achievement to be found right now. I just have to look a little harder for it. 

It takes small building blocks, like individual pieces of Lego. Telling myself that I’ll get my phone out while I mope on my bed to write down any thoughts and ideas for my newsletter, no pressure. It merely takes a firm little push in the right direction. No forcing anything out, like whacking the bottom of a ketchup bottle to savour up the remnants. Now I’ve successfully tricked myself into writing hundreds of words, nearly just enough for a whole piece of writing in itself. See, it wasn’t that hard! Oh, but it could have been all too easy to just say no. Fuck it. I’m not doing it. I’ve seen where that leads and I’m not making a return visit. 

Credit: Adobe Stock

So here I slog. I trudge. A game of the tortoise and the hare. We all know how that one turned out in the end. Three cheers for small wins!

Keep Going

By Edgar A. Guest 

When things go wrong, as they sometimes will,
And the road you’re trudging seems all uphill,
When the funds are low, and the debts are high,
And you want to smile, but you have to sigh,
When care is pressing you down a bit,
Rest if you must, but don’t you quit.
Life is queer with its twists and turns,
As every one of us sometimes learns.
And many a failure turns about
When he might have won had he stuck it out.
Don’t give up though the pace seems slow,
You may succeed with another blow.
Often the goal is nearer than it seems
To a faint and faltering man.
Often the struggler has given up when he
Might have captured the victor’s cup,
And he learned too late when the night slipped down,
How close he was to the golden crown.
Success is failure turned inside out,
The silver tint of the clouds of doubt,
And you never can tell how close you are.
It may be near when it seems afar.
So stick to the fight when you’re hardest hit.
It’s when things seem worst that
You mustn’t quit.