No Regrets

What can I do versus what I should do versus what I want to do.

I really want to go to the movie, but I know I'll pay a price the next day. How heavy a price? Is it worth it?

Should I say no to the meeting, postpone it to the next day? How urgent is it really?

Of course I should stay and talk to Grace about her health issues. But I'll probably pay a price for staying late at the office. Will an extra hour really matter—I'm already exhausted. It might make a difference between a major headache over the weekend or a weekend when I can function, and there's so much I'd like to do that I haven't been able to get to. There's writing and yoga and Gus is visiting—I'd like to take him for a walk and be able to play with him, and I really should. He needs his exercise.

I'm constantly assessing my needs versus my wants, my state of exhaustion. I'm continually adjusting and readjusting my pace.

The way I handle pacing myself has evolved over time. I used to take more risks. I've become better at listening to the bloody brain. I've become better at ignoring that annoying little voice that tries to tell me that I can actually do more, that I'm malingering. But I still tax myself occasionally.

Saturdays are my recovery days, but I really wanted to go out to dinner with Rosa and Alex. And I did--I paid a price. A heavy one. Yet I had no regrets—it was well worth it. Rosa and Alex were so much fun, and the food was amazing.

Spring Beak is coming up, and I could really use the rest. I should stay at home and rest. But I'll be flying to Colorado, to work with my editor, and to see Cindy, of course. It'll be exhausting, and I'll pay a price, most likely a heavy one.

But it'll be well worth it--there will be no regrets.