Oh, the promises I make myself.
Nearly twenty years ago, I bought some beautiful wool fabric, fully intending to make a jacket out of it. Three years ago I bought a pattern, and since then I have slowly progressed to the finish…I swore I’d finish it last year, then gave up when the weather got too warm in the spring. This fall, I told myself. Absolutely this fall.
Of course each time I pick it up, I have to re-read the instructions to figure out what comes next. Then I get discouraged, and give up.
But I will finish it by Thanksgiving. I will wear it on Turkey Day.
And this book…I bought it about fifteen years ago…I pick it up periodically but never get very far. In fairness, I haven’t been reading like I used to, and I did read another two books I’ve had sitting on my shelf since the late 90s.
Then there’s the well-worn promise to lose weight. I only have about six pounds to lose, but I have a body type that shows every ounce, so it seems like more. (When I lost 40 pounds many years ago, more than one person swore I must have lost closer to 100. Like I wouldn’t have been bragging about that!) I don’t feel a need to lose it in a hurry, more a need to feel in control of my weight. I have a vision of myself grossly overweight, and it frightens me. Apparently not enough to put down those Pepperidge Farm salted caramel cookies, however. Yummy…too yummy.
So I avoid making promises to others. If I can’t honor what I’ve promised myself, how can I be expected to honor what I promise others?
Image Credits, header: (calendar) © stillfx — Fotolia; (clock) © Jakub Krechowicz — Fotolia
My World With Words 
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