I am always surprised by wisdom. Whether it comes from someone else or originates in my own brain, wisdom has to sneak up on me and dodge decades of convoluted, cherished ignorance for me to get it. I will clutch some stupid opinion or belief so tightly, so defiantly, that no newer, wiser thought can possibly replace it. I have wandered through life making dumb decisions and thinking stupid stuff.  I realize this. *sigh* They say, admitting you have a problem is the first step. So, I admit I have a problem recognizing wisdom when it shows up. Sometimes, I miss it because of a preconceived or prejudiced belief I have.

An encounter I had once with a scraggly, snaggle-toothed drifter is an example of this. He was mad because I locked my car doors as he walked up. (Note to self: Invent a car door lock that doesn't sound like a rifle shot.) With his dirty face up against my closed window, he yelled, "You're paranoid, lady! You need to  loosen up! People like you have heart attacks because you're afraid of harmless people like me!!"

Now, he might have trouble convincing me that his words were wise. It's possible they were. It's completely possible that I should loosen up. But, coming from Robin Williams' stand-in from The Fisher King (obscure reference alert) it would have been a hard sell. See, that's prejudice on my part. I'm not proud of it. Just recognizing.

Lately I've been having my own uncharacteristic flashes of wisdom. And, like wise words from an offended hobo, wisdom originating in my brain is just as surprising. The cliche "With age comes wisdom" is the only explanation for these "wisdom attacks."

So, it dawned on me the other day—I am addicted to having options, at the expense of having accomplishments. Stay with me here and I'll try to explain.

I have convinced myself that, any day now, a tsunami of inspiration is going to hit me and I will have the time and the right tools to finish the story that I have been writing for six years. A story that will make angels weep. But days, weeks , months have gone by without adding one new word. In a flash of insight, I have come to recognize that I am addicted to procrastinating because I like the feeling of keeping my options open. Options. Addicted to options. What does that look like?

I could finish the story, but first I think I'll write a little poetry or maybe a blog or I might do a little more research.  I need a laptop, I need quiet, I need time and then, I will really write! The words will flow. As long as I wasn't actually writing the story, I still had the option of writing the story.

And it's not just about writing. As long as I'm not actively losing weight or consistently following an exercise routine, I still have the option to do those things. In someone else's life it might look like this: As long as you're not in a committed relationship, you have the option of developing a lasting relationship with someone, sometime, somewhere down the line. Or, someone else might say, as long as I'm not sober, I always have the option of getting sober. As long as I hold onto a dead-end job, a bad marriage, my bad spending habits I still have the option to better my circumstances.

Obituaries prove that options have expiration dates.  I know I probably sound as crazy to you as the bum sounded to me that day, but all I know is this: I don't want to get down to the end of my life, and be holding onto a bunch of unused options. I cannot accomplish anything until I trade my options for actions.