I can’t think when I’m tired. I can’t. Nobody is able to. Well, people can, but I’m pretty certain it isn’t going to be one of your brightest times. At least it isn’t for me.
I still try.
I try even when my body hurts in the morning and my mind hits the snooze button ten times in a row. Even when my head feels stuffed with cotton after just another one of my nightly nightmares; even when I feel I’m no good for anything; even when the previous day was crappy and sad, I still try.
I try because my life’s dream depends on me trying. It depends on me to get out of bed each morning and do something, anything, to get myself even a milimeter closer to my goal.
My current work has nothing to do with my dream, but it feeds and clothes me. It tires my brain, but keeps me alive. It takes time I’d love to dedicate to my dream, slowing my pace, but I need it.
My slow pace frustrates me. It depresses me. It makes me question myself, especially those mornings like today when I can barely crawl out bed. Is all the effort worth the sacrifice?
The answer is yes. It is, even if I struggle all my life and don’t get where I want to be.
Life is hard and not all dreams come true. I know that. That knowledge scares me. Sometimes I even think that part of my fatigue is a defense mechanism against my fears. It would be easier to stay secure in the job I have now, wishing that things were different. It would be easier not to work more than what I have to. It would be easier to conform and forget.
In days like today, when I can’t think, I’m tempted. So tempted. But then I remember my dream and still try.
I prefer to know I have tried and failed, than to live my life bitter and miserable, because I was too scared to try, too afraid of failure, too secure in a paying job to reach out for what I wanted.
Today I’m tired and I can’t think, but I still try. I advanced a milimeter more. I’m closer.
Tomorrow I’ll get up and I’ll try again.