Immersed in the "Anne of Green Gables" book series again, I have been struck by the industry of the people a century ago. From dawn to dusk there was work to be done, and they simply went about it.
Me, I find a sticky floor or a neglected bathroom or a growing pile of laundry and feel exhausted just looking at it. I look back on my day and know I lacked industry and organization. There is a list of projects that needs attacking, always growing and never receding. I steal an afternoon nap and lose time afterwards to the grogginess of reawakening. I pick up after the family in an ever losing battle for tidiness. I rationalize about young children, home businesses, sleepless nights, overflowing schedules. And yet I feel condemned by my conscience. Modern conveniences have eased the burden of work considerably from years gone by, and yet I feel it has only bred an attitude of laziness in me.
Perhaps it is the cold, melancholy of winter which descends upon me, and I do not give myself enough credit for the bustling busyness of summer, but I am not optimistic. Rather I feel spurred on to change. Maybe I am finally shedding the modern habit of idleness from this moment of enlightenment.