I have an entire room in my house devoted to gym equipment. You know, the stuff you buy on Boxing Day when you're feeling motivated for New Year's.
It could be a spare bedroom or a crafts room or something else but I put all my best intentions for getting fit in there instead.
And I've had an extremely difficult time using it. I'd pass by the doorway on the way to the bathroom several times a day and never notice it.
I am not one of those people who wakes up at 5 in the morning bright-eyed and bushy-tailed and jumps on the treadmill with unbounded glee. I usually wake up anywhere between 9 and 11 in a bit of a stupour.
I thought and thought about how to overcome my resistance and tried every trick I could think of. I left a light on, I decorated it in bright colors to make it more user-appealing, all to no avail.
But, I finally got it. If I can commit to at least walking into that room once every day and staying there for one minute, somewhere between the count of 1 and 60, I will pick up a dumbbell. Out of boredom if nothing else. Once I've gotten that far, the rest is easy.
Over time the old bod realizes it likes the feeling of stretching and looks forward to it.
I find the one minute rule works for writing as well. As I mentioned last post, I've been working on a personal memoir for the past two years. It's in outline form split into years and then sub-items of various topics and vignettes.
I don't know how it ever got to 350 pages at the rate I was going but that's how it's done; one minute at a time. The commitment I made was to stop any time it got to be too much. A lot of days that was 5 minutes.
On the days when I think I just can't face another word, all I have to do is pick one item and look at it for one minute. Something always happens. A little editing here or there and I'm off to the races.
In the grand scheme I'm committed to writing for at least 15 minutes a day. It could be The Book, or my dream journal or anything else. Today it's this.