Retiring from the Chocolate Factory

October Blog by Storyteller Carol McCormick

I have an October birthday. Every year, as I circle another lap around the sun, I naturally find

myself looking backward: "What have I done with this life? What have I learned? What do I still want to do?"

This year, I want to simplify my life so I can remain healthy, hopeful, and reasonably sane. I

want to use my imagination—not to worry about everything that could possibly go wrong, but to write a new story for how I want to live.

So I’m asking myself: "Who am I? What do I value? And am I actually living according to my answers?"

Since childhood, I’ve been challenged by ADHD. I’m easily distracted, often anxious and

occasionally angry. I’m a gifted avoider and a chronic rescuer. I talk fast, interrupt, finish other people’s sentences, and sometimes seem to believe that if I don’t say something immediately, it will vanish from the universe.

Fear has also been one of my most reliable productivity tools. Give me a deadline and a little

panic, and suddenly I am a woman on a mission!

Unfortunately, my brilliant imagination can take a tiny spark of fear and turn it into a five-alarm bonfire. I’ve used anxiety as rocket fuel to accomplish great and wonderful things, while occasionally forgetting such minor details as sleep, water, food, and the general care and maintenance of the human body.

I have been consistently inconsistent. I can work tremendously hard for a while and then

become completely unmotivated. My daily life sometimes resembles "If You Give a Mouse a

Cookie". One little thing leads to another, and suddenly I’m reorganizing a drawer when I was supposed to be answering an email.

Fear of rejection has been another frequent companion. I’ve worried that I don’t belong, that I won’t be accepted, or that someone else is more talented, successful, organized, younger, thinner, wiser - or has a cleaner kitchen.

Comparison is a nasty little thief. It steals joy while whispering, Look what everyone else is

doing! My strategy for dealing with anxiety has often been simple: Do more. Achieve more. Be better.

But anxiety is a lousy long-term life coach.

Eventually the fuel runs out. Then come exhaustion, lethargy, rapid heartbeat, and depression.

My body finally stages a revolt and announces, “Excuse me, but we have some concerns about your management style.”

At times, my life has felt like that famous Lucy Ricardo episode in the chocolate factory. The

chocolates keep coming faster and faster down the conveyor belt. Lucy tries to keep up and

eventually starts stuffing candy into her mouth, her hat and her pockets.

Except my chocolates are commitments, responsibilities, ideas, emails, errands, projects and

other people’s problems.

This year, I want a different story.

On this next trip around the sun, I want to learn to flow with the river instead of fighting the

current. I want to motivate myself through delight rather than fear.

Instead of asking, “What can I force myself to do?” I want to ask, “What would make this easier, healthier, or more enjoyable?”

That means some very unglamorous things: Sleep. Water. Exercise.

I want to stop using comparison as a measuring stick. I want to listen before I answer. I want to practice not interrupting - although I make no promises about perfection. I’m aiming for

progress, not sainthood.

I also want to loosen my standards. "Does my house really need to be clean and organized all the time?" Probably not. Maybe I can live happily with a few islands of order in a sea of creative possibility.

I’ll schedule time each week to clear my desk, recycle papers that no longer matter, and file the ones that do.

And when anxiety shows up, I’m going to give it a name: Anxious Amy. Perfect Penny. Critical Connie.

Instead of letting these voices run the show, I can ask: "What are you trying to tell me? What are you trying to protect me from? How might you help me without taking over?"

I want to become the Narrator of my life rather than allowing anxiety to write the script. That

means giving up my favorite rescue fantasy: “If I don’t do it, no one else will.” Perhaps someone else can do it. Perhaps they can do it differently. Perhaps they can even do it wrong and survive.

I want to stop doing for others what they can reasonably do for themselves. I want to stop

nagging and yelling. I want to set healthy boundaries, and actually keep them. I want to let

people move at their own pace.

In other words, I’m working on retiring from the position of Director of Everybody Else’s Life.

Maybe this birthday isn’t about reinventing myself. Maybe it’s about remembering who I

already am and becoming more intentional about how I want to spend the next chapter.

Less fear. Less frenzy. Less rescuing. More water. More sleep. More delight. More presence.

And a little more trust that I don’t have to catch every chocolate coming down the conveyor

belt. Some of them can just go by. After all, I have another story to write.