Maybe it’s a gen-Y thing, maybe it’s affluence, or maybe it’s just human, but this morning I found myself curled on my bed, head in my pillow in what I immediately and honestly labelled as a helpless ball of ‘I don’t want to.’
When the working week finally draws to an end, Saturday arrives, bright with sunshiny promise and smudged by a list of chores from a week of saying ‘I’ll get to that on Saturday.’ As the ugly head of self-entitlement rears, I find myself feeling cheated by the idea that a day that could be full of self-indulgent pleasures is actually full of things I should do.
This self-entitlement reigns as I potter pathetically, doing a bit of this and that, but really nothing at all, before finding myself in the aforementioned ball on my bed. I’m not depressed. It’s not a state of dark, canyon-like ‘I can’t’, just a childish, spoilt ‘I don’t want to.’
I’m pleased to say that my realization of this ‘state,’ along with the idea of airing it to the world, was all the motivation I needed to get off the bed, change my attitude and get it all done. A driving factor, too, was the tardy realization that I serve a God who has a greater purpose for me than being curled up because ‘I don’t want to.’