I intended to post another installment of The Story of Us today, but I haven’t quite gotten there yet. I promise I will post Part 3 soon.

Today, I want to tell you about a thought that has absolutely haunted me for the past year or so.

“…How we spend our days is, of course, how we spend our lives.”

The quote is from Annie Dillard, who sneaked her way on to my list of favorite authors about 6 years ago. She is not always easy to read, but she is rich and dense and lovely.

I once gave her book The Writing Life to a friend I thought was a magnificent writer and that friend said, “Reading this made me realize that I am not actually a writer.”

Annie Dillard is like that. Reading that book actually made me sad to realize that I probably WAS a writer, and such was my lot in life.

Here is the whole block of text that follows the quote above. I find it so true about the importance of a schedule, probably not only for a writer, but for other creatives as well. The world is too intriguing, there is too much to explore. If I don’t nail down the hours, they always seem to float away.

“What we do with this hour, and that one, is what we are doing. A schedule defends from chaos and whim. It is a net for catching days. It is a scaffolding on which a worker can stand and labor with both hands at sections of time. A schedule is a mock-up of reason and order—willed, faked, and so brought into being; it is a peace and a haven set into the wreck of time; it is a lifeboat on which you find yourself, decades later, still living.”

Yesterday, I posted the first post in a series called The Story of Us. Come back tomorrow for Part 2.

Did you ever play the game “Mother May I” when you were a kid? In this game, the goal is to reach the person who is acting as the “mother” – and that is also the person who gives you permission to move forward. In order to move forward, you have to wait for the person who is playing the mother to say something like, “Amy, take 3 giant steps forward.” And then, you have to ask “Mother May I?” And the “mother” can then say yes or no.

At least that’s how I remember it. It’s kind of like Simon Says, in that you have to have someone else’s permission to do anything at all.

Sometimes I catch myself living my life like I am playing Mother May I or Simon Says. I get a great idea, I think of a “move” I’d like to make. And before I even have a chance to get started, I think I don’t have permission. It’s not that obvious, though. Sometimes I just seem to think something is silly. I don’t believe that my idea is fleshed out enough to move forward. So, metaphorically, I kind of ask “Mother May I?”

And, imagine it – the universe never responds.

This is something I want to work through in the coming year. I want to live like I don’t need permission. I want to stop being apologetic about my weirdness and embrace my unique ideas.

And you should, too.