I once killed a man. Then I killed him again and again and again. I tend to leave him alongside the Trace when I run.
This man is the weak me. The one that says, “It’s okay to stop, you’ve done enough.”
This man is easy to listen to. His words are soothing to people enduring struggle.
Well, I killed him again. This time it was in my room while folding clothes. I heard the familiar, “You’ve folded enough. Put the rest in a pile and go watch TV.”
As I grabbed a pile to move it to a chair, it occurred to me that this is the same man I serial kill.
And if I can kill him while I’m running, I can surely kill him while I’m folding clothes. And if I can kill him while folding clothes, I can definitely kill him while I’m working on a big project or reading a book.
So I did, and it made all the difference.