He Just Kept Digging

He had dug quite a hole for himself..........and he just kept digging.

Even as his mind fought to destroy defeatest habits and create productive habits in their place, he threw another shovelful of dirt over his shoulder. And another. It was if his muscles had a mind of their own. Or no mind at all.

It is true that old habits die hard, but if those old habits lead to an unfulfilled life, shouldn't the effort to kill be maximized?

The shovel struck rock. Sparked and bounced off. Sent painful vibrations up his arm. He switched the power arm from left to right, took one step 6 inches to his right, and drove the blade into the dirt. A clean dig. So satisfying. Until he wondered why he kept doing what he was doing. What exactly was the motivation?

There were examples he could emulate. Friends and relatives who succeeded at life. Had a purpose. Pursued it with single-minded determination. And seemed to derive happiness from the effort.

It is hard to maintain focus as a dreamer. Dreamers dream. And dreams are ethereal. They don't respond well to to-do lists. They shift shape and make bigger promises, and distract with their beauty.

But dreams are not real. You cannot pin them down, you cannot realize them without luck. And magic.

But shovelling is concrete. Black and white. Blade in, blade out, dirt removed, blade back in. And the hole gets deeper. 

A dreamer. A creative. Others survive, even succeed at the dreamer's life. How do they do it? Many suffer along the way but, then again, everybody suffers along the way. That's what makes life so much fun.

Turning creativity into gold. Sensitivity. An otherness. Capitalizing on the truth of the soul. No matter what. Hard work in a brutal world.

A little easier to put shovel to dirt.

He just kept digging.