If I were awarded for every novel thought I’ve had, I would have written at least one book, been to Everest base camp, and have a set of six pack abs. But sometimes, Parks and Rec is just too enticing. The gateway drug of “I’ll do it later” can easily rule my life and rob me of inspiration.

I hear voices. I don’t see dead people too, but I do hear spits of inspiration throughout my day. What I have started doing is ignoring them. And lately, that’s felt a lot like being out at sea in a sailboat and putting my sails down every time the wind blows. It just takes so much effort to listen to these thoughts and act on them. It’s taken me months to write this blog post for that very reason. I can do it later. I just rarely do.

Sometimes I feel like I have so many interesting ideas that they feel like weight and pressure building. I need to get these ideas out of my head and put them into action. I was listening to a podcast tonight called ‘Girls Night’ and the guest speaker was sharing how getting started in her industry felt a lot like putting her hand on the plow. She had so many ideas and creative thoughts but she wasn’t seeing fruits from her thoughts until she put her hands into it and turned it into labor. She had to break a sweat and get some callouses on her hands before she could see the rewards of her ideas. Her ideas had to be created before they could be embraced.

Sometimes taking initiative doesn’t go as planned but what you learn from it can be worth it. Let me give you an example. I am really trying to keep my house plants alive, but I struggle with watering them. Finally last week, I watered the one in my room but it overflowed and soaked my carpet. Was it worth it? My plant would say so. What did I learn? Two gallons of water is too much to pour on an indoor plant. I can’t make up lost time of not watering it by watering it all at once. It needs to be a daily (or weekly) thing or the leaves start to wither. I don’t want to wither.

When I tell people being responsible is annoying and hard, I often hear, ‘It’s called ‘adulting’. Well you know what? I don’t like the term ‘adulting’. To me it sounds like wearing two inch black patent leather close-toed heels and sitting at a desk with a floral skirt and a casserole baking on a timer at home. I like cutting pizza with scissors, stealing toilet paper rolls from hotels so I don’t have to go to the store, and wearing men’s deodorant. If I had everything figured out it would be hella boring. I just think these quirks in my life are worth documenting. Even if people don’t enjoy reading what I have to say, I really feel like I have a calling in life to write things down. I have been doing it since I was a kid and I still do it now. I’m Old Faithful and the geyser has to blow.

What I really want to do is share more with you and write more often. I have been neglecting that side of myself.  I feel alive when I write because I feel vulnerable and awake. My personality hates being vulnerable (I am an 8 on the Enneagram) so I force myself to feel so I can feel alive. Publishing for me feels like bungee jumping: There’s only one way down.

I am most alive when my sails are up and my hands are on the plow. It’s work and it’s annoying and sometimes my carpet gets soaked, but if I stop trying then I stop being me. I never want to lose hold of Leah, even when things seem monotonous or hectic. I have the time now to push into my plow and figure out what fills my sails. Beyonce also only has 24 hours in a day. I need to wake up.

It’s really all about being responsible to who I am, not just responsible in life. I can pay all my bills on time, pitch great ideas at work, get fit, but I am nothing if I ignore my inner self. I never want to be too busy and forget me.

I forced myself to set up camp inside and write something by the end of the day.  It’s no Pulitzer, but it’s a start (and it will make me feel better about myself for at least another week). It’s about time I get my hands on the plow.