I -- sincerely -- get great joy out of writing things in my calendar.
I guess when you've spent many years of your life feeling down or anxious, worrying so many moments away instead of enjoying them, you just realize how RICH you are when suddenly everything just gives you such joy.
I have three calendars -- no joke -- on my bulletin board at work.
I don't really need that many, but I have them.
I have a big calendar on my desk at the office.
I carry around a pocket sized calendar in my bag. Unless I lose track of it, which is often. Then when I come across it I pull back the pages of the weeks I have lived, and re-mark my place with a binder clip, the binder clip that marks today and leads the way to tomorrow.
And somewhere I have a notebook sized calendar, that I've misplaced indefinitely.
And of course, the Google calendar.
I might have a problem.
Writing things down helps you remember them. So if I write down someone's birthday, a dinner date, or a concert in my calendar, I am more likely to remember it (and yes, I am so busy and scattered that I even (almost) forget concerts sometimes -- I almost missed Tegan and Sara in May, and I LOVE T&S, so it wasn't for lack of affection). If I write it down SEVEN times, I'm, like, SUPER likely to remember it.
And, having, what?, seven?, calendars gives me seven chances to get excited about events.
Oh yeah, and help me remember those freelance deadlines, because those puppies creep up on you!
And, finally, I don't have one of those "smart" phones y'all have, so I don't have something in my purse pinging me to go pick up my dry cleaning (as if I were civilized enough to utilize dry cleaning -- ha!).
All this to say, your honor, that I am allowed seven calendars.
I rest my case.
This afternoon I wrote down all my training dates for my half marathon -- WHICH I'm officially registered for. Big Sur, here we come!
And? I got so excited.
This weekend I bought two more sports bras, neon and wonderful.
Tonight I'm so looking forward to dinner with my friend Caleb, but I also can't wait until Wednesday when I can go to the gym again.
No offense to Caleb. I just kind of have a relationship with the treadmill currently.
My walk around the office building is in 22 minutes.
I'm sorry (not sorry). I'm one of those workout-obsessed people who never shuts up and fuels off of endorphins.
I used to hate it when Abby came home from the gym, all chipper and high on life, whereas I, having not gone to the gym, did not share her zest for all things small.
But I do have zest -- so much zest -- for small things on a calendar. And now, for exercise.
I wrote my miles I have to run in the tiny spaces in my pocket-sized calendar.
Drew little circles around each number.
And colored in the circles with a highlighter, so they will stand out.
Of life. Of health. Of joy looking forward.