I thought I would duck out of this tonight but I feel obliged. To whom? To myself.
So I am just going to write without a forethought. Its about this day.
I had great ambitions for this day. It was lined up nicely like bottles on a wall. I was going to shoot down my goals one by one, and listen to the satisfying sound of breaking glass. A kind of a cathartic knee jerk to how the rest of the week had been. Great ambitions and I knew that with a little of that twang of accomplishment I would have struck the chords correctly. Do that at this time, that at that time, that should be enough. Even used the Pomodoro timer. But somehow none of it was enough. I was busy scratching my knee, and shaking my foot before 25 minutes was up. It seemed I had lined up rubber bottles. None of them were giving that satisfying crunch of broken cathartic glass shredding into a thousand screams.
Nope nothing. So I ate a pie. I rationalised it as a meat sandwich. I had been dreaming of a bacon and egg pie and had even driven to a shop that made monster drool worthy pies. They had no bacon and egg pie. I compromised and got a mince. Honestly mince; a grey mash of nothing. That's how my day felt.
Great goals, but nothing had the crisp crunch of accomplishment. The pomodoro timer had me restless, the pie wasn't there for me.
But then I went to Karate. In the thrust and the sweat of the concentration of the moment I forgot the no crunch pie, the boring countdown of the timer, and that there was no shattering sound of accomplishment.
There was simply me in the company of others lost in movement fully engaged and fully crunched in being in that session. It was just bloody wonderful.
Now I feel whole again.