When was the last time you felt good about the fact that you were wrong?
That happened to me today. Let me explain.
I’ve been working so single-mindedly on finishing a draft of my thesis for graduate school (minimum 150 pages) that, in general, I’ve become a bit muddled with dates and deadlines. Which I hate. I prefer to think of myself as a clear-headed, conscientious gal who juggles life like a professional acrobat.
The uneasy truth, however, is that those juggling skills are slipping. Forget about eight balls at once, I’m down to one, maybe two. Parenthood and work demand enough juggling; combine that with REAL LIFE and we’re all contortionists to some degree — or maybe just clowns?
My slip-up was one that brought me enormous relief, having to do with the very thing that’s preoccupying me. Unwittingly, I thought the draft of my thesis was due on December 1 when in fact I learned today that I have an extra week, until December 7. Yahoo. It’s an online book discussion that I have to lead on December 1, but not the thesis deadline.
I’m sure that my faculty mentor and fellow students thought I was a bit nuts checking and double-checking dates. But that’s okay. I’m thrilled to be wrong.