The Daily Dilly-Dally Dance

One thing about retirement is you have a lot of extra time. And for some of us, that is a boon -- and for the slackers among us, it can be anything but.

The Free Dictionary says to dilly-dally is to waste time, especially in indecision; to dawdle or vacillate. But before you jump on the proverbial band-wagon and assume I'm going to protest the idea of procrastination, think again.

Most of our dawdling is done much more inspirationally than that -- with way more creative finesse. Heck, it's practically professional in nature, more insidious and well-planned, honed-to-a-fine-point. Not thought-out in the traditional sense, exactly, more like nearly accidentally thunk-out.

By deferring things in a sneaky, cunning way we get to think we're doing so without anyone -- even ourselves -- knowing. Surreptitiously, with an eye toward self-deception. Looking one way with a part of our brains hoping the other part isn't aware of it ... isn't watching or listening. It's the ultimate in self-trickery.

When I'm in my best state-of-avoidance, I'm really, really good at it. In fact, I'm so good at it that I honestly think I should be paid for such creative off-putting. But if I Google such notions, I never see anybody willing to pay me for this skill. Oh no! They want quick-studies, fast-starters, and those with initiation. Give me a break! Does anybody really know anybody who fits those descriptions -- and if you did, would you hire them? Myself, I want a genuine human being, one with a dubious work record, who's not particularly endowed with any fancy skills, and who isn't living a power verb existence.

Of course, nobody does the dilly-dally dance better than me. When I'm in it -- I shine! I can avoid doing things with the best of them and then go them one better. And I usually do.

But, truth be told, I am human, and there are days when I feel rueful about things and am inclined to beat up on myself. During those moments (some of which stretch into days and weeks), I get sucked into believing silly society's opinion -- that I'm just wasting my time. That I'm no good. That I'm a downright slug.

During such times, the mounds of work piling up frighten me and I am inclined to call a therapist for help. My distracted dizziness lures me into believing I am a bad person, a dysfunctional member of an otherwise functional society. And I find myself toying with the idea that if I could just finish cleaning the house, finish filing those stacks of papers, and complete that next blog, then all will be okay with the world.

But we all know it's not as simple as all that.

Every practical person knows that open windows invite more dust, that behind every pile of un-filed papers another one looms, and that real successful bloggers are the ones who forget that seven entries per week means seven entries per week. And I know what the out-distancers and out-performers are thinking as they read these words; that I'm in denial and nothing more than a wheel-spinner. But I maintain that those fools are the real fools and that in another lifetime they were probably a shillyshallying foot-dragger just like me.

In deference to those valued members of the land (and my courageous little ego), I will now wrap this article up into a tiny, concise ball. And I will do that by quoting the words of Carly Simon. For I'm sure she was referring to the daily dilly-dally dance when she wrote:

Nobody does it better

Makes me feel sad for the rest

Nobody does it half as good as you

Baby, you're the best

And though some may say this ending is too conveniently pithy -- a mere deus ex machina, to them I would like to say:

"Just leave me alone so I can get on with avoiding the next [fill in the blank]!"

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