As you may recall, I challenged myself to get things started this year. And, well … starting is not my strongest skill.

Fortunately (?), the Universe is providing plenty of opportunities to practice.

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The start of a new semester always leaves me a little frazzled. There’s the syllabi to update, the lessons to plan and outline, the handouts to update and copy, and the students to schedule.

Throw in 45 middles school kids, some private students, a workshop and a gig or two and I can start spinning.

Once I get new things in my calendar and start my new routine, it’s all good, but all of the “Should I teach 2 days or 3 days” and “Should my teaching day start at 10 or 11?” wears me out.

This “fatigue” is part of what keeps me from starting in the first place.

But, it’s not really the starting, it’s the deciding and the promising.

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When I add something to my schedule, I am making a promise to be there. And that can make me think twice (or four or five times *smile*) before adding things.

This contemplation has its pros and cons. Sure, it is sensible to take a few moments to reflect on how adding a new commitment will impact my “whole” schedule. And I have learned that cramming in too many last minute items can make me feel scattered and unfocused. But sometimes for me, this reflecting can turn into inaction.

(I’m working on that.)

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A friend of mine (who knows me well *smile*) sent me a blog post whose title was Tattoo Thinking. The post talked about how most of the decisions we have to make are much less permanent than a tattoo. Yet we (okay, I) agonize over them.

We act as though the consequences of many of our decisions are IMPORTANT, when really, if we send the email today or tomorrow; go to the bank before or after the grocery store; do the laundry Monday or Thursday – it will hardly matter in a week or so. (We also forget that not deciding is a decision. We’ve decided not to decide.)

But we can make everything seem so permanent.

During the start of a new semester I have to remind myself frequently that putting something on my calendar doesn’t mean I can’t reschedule it later if I need to. (I’m not breaking a promise, I’m rescheduling an appointment.) That saying no to a single request in service of my whole schedule (and sanity) is allowed. That rearranging my schedule to add projects I really want to do is good.

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Most important, in order to start, I am letting go of being precious.

You know, precious — wanting everything done a certain way in a certain order at a certain time. The hand-written note with the hand-made gift, the dinner or cookies from scratch, the perfect new student welcome packet or blog post or newsletter design.

Part of my work on starting things is letting go of being able to pick the most efficient, effective process at the start.

Sometimes there isn’t enough information at the beginning to do this. Sometimes you just have to get moving until a way appears. And, while I’m very comfortable with this idea when I sing, I still struggle to embrace it in the rest of my life.

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As I traverse the new year, whenever I am tempted to spin, idle, over-think, overproduce, hem or haw, I tell myself, “This is not a tattoo.” And whenever I think I would get started on that blog post, grant proposal, set list, etc. if only I had more time, I say to myself, “Don’t get precious, get started.”

More Bloggity Goodness

• Working with the Broken Pieces