Glow by Lady E

  There is an invisible schedule I sometimes carry around in my head. By this age, I should have done this. I should already own that. I should have reached this milestone, built that life, earned that much, figured this part out. No one handed me this schedule. There are no deadlines printed on it. And yet somehow, it can feel very real. It gets louder when I look at other people. Someone is buying a house. Someone is traveling. Someone’s business is growing. Someone has reached the milestone I’m still working toward. And suddenly, their progress becomes evidence that I am late. But late for what? We passed by this sculpture of fishermen recently, surrounded by the tall buildings of BGC. The contrast struck me. Behind them is a world measured in meetings, deadlines, promotions, targets and calendars. But fishermen have always understood another kind of time. The tide comes in. The tide goes out. There are seasons for going farther and seasons for staying close to shore. You cannot...

There are things I say to myself that I would probably never say to another person. Not because they sound particularly terrible. Most of them sound almost harmless. Ordinary, even. But I say them often enough that I’ve started wondering what they’re doing to me. I have so much to do. This is probably the one I say most often. I’ll look around the house, think about work, remember something I haven’t finished, think of three more things while doing something else, and there it is: I have so much to do. For my ADHD brain, this is possibly one of the least helpful things I can say. Because suddenly there isn’t one thing in front of me anymore. There is everything . Everything becomes one enormous, shapeless task hovering over my head. So I’m trying to catch myself when I say it. I don’t have to do everything. I only have to decide what I’m doing now . Then there’s: I’m so tired. Or its more dramatic sibling: I’m so exhausted. Sometimes I really am tired. But I’ve not...

  I have a habit of trying to fix things. If I’m uncomfortable, I want to know why. If I’m disappointed, I start thinking about what I should do differently. If I’m uncertain, my brain starts building plans. And if I’m sad, angry or lonely, some part of me immediately wants to turn that feeling into a problem I can solve. Maybe it comes from being used to handling things. I’m very good at asking, Okay, what do I do now? Usually, that’s useful. But lately, I’ve been wondering if I ask that question too quickly. Because sometimes I’m sad because something made me sad. Sometimes I’m disappointed because I hoped for something and it didn’t happen. Sometimes I’m angry because something hurt me. Sometimes I’m lonely. Sometimes I simply don’t know what happens next. And maybe I don’t need to immediately turn any of those things into a project. I don’t need a five-step plan for every uncomfortable emotion. I don’t need to find the lesson while I’m still living through the experience. I don...