on running out of time

If ever there was a time waster, I am he. The one people look to for an example of what it means to waste away into nothingness while you check twitter for the 20th time in the hour.

Wasting time is my forte. If awards were given, I’d be number one. Most likely I wouldn’t show up for the ceremony, though. That would require getting off the couch. No time for that business.

I’m only 30 years old. That can be taken two ways. One says, “there’s still plenty of time, Blair.” The other says, “your life is 1/3 over, chump.” I listen to a different voice depending on the day. I have big dreams. Maybe ‘had’ would be more accurate. Past tense feels a little more honest. But as a 30 year old with lots of time left, yet 1/3 over, I want to be more, and the big dreams of my youth have flown the coop.

To be super Christian. To grow in my faith; to sainthood status by 30 years old (and I’m not even catholic. This new pope makes me want to be). I want to be this ideal picture I have in my head of what a Jesus follower looks like. Humble. Forgiving. Wise. Spends time with God daily. Giving. Patient. All those things.

Also, healthy. Washboard abs and glutes that would make Arnold Schwarzenegger weep. Believe it or not, I am currently not there. Close, but not quite. I want to want to go for a jog or a bike ride. Heck, I’ll even settle for walking up the stairs without sweating.

I want to be the people I admire. The Brennan Manning. The Brian McLaren. The Pope Francis. My grandmas, both living and deceased.

I want to be all this without putting any effort in. Because CandyCrush won’t play itself and my daily 2 hour nap is essential to my routine of getting more ready for bed. I can’t make time to become the person I want to be. I’m much too busy wallowing like a pig in his own filth to move forward.

My glass is either half full or half empty. Most days it feels like the latter, as I’m a raging pessimist on steroids. There’s still time, though. Each day is new, and I can’t become the man I should be overnight.

Speaking of steroids, people like to take shortcuts. Those people being me. To be unnaturally strong with half the work. And that’s my problem, minus the real steroids. I want to be what I cannot be unless I choose to be a better user of my time. Shortcuts will leave me sitting in the couch sucking back Doritos watching TSN highlights for the 10th time in a row (just in case they are different this time).

Time to step up and get it done. I may or may not, though, depending on how I feel in the morning. Sometimes wasting time is the best use of time. I just get those times confused often .


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