Beers, Be-ers and Doers

I am a doer.
You have a plan? I get it done.
Talking about it makes me anxious.
Yes, but, what are you DOING about it?
Never ask a favor of me and tell me to, “take my time” with it.
“My time” is the speed of light to the tune of fourteen cups of coffee and a neglected kitchen because you asked me to “do” something and I will not-cannot- rest until it is done.
Like, done, done.
Not rough draft done.
Like, final copy not a comma out of place and smells like new ink done.
I had to give up knitting because the fact that I couldn’t complete a project the day I began it was so excruciating that my jaw began to ache the minute my fingers touched a skein.
I am a doer.
My husband, my sister,my daughter and everyone else close and important to me it seems, are BE-ERs.
Not to be confused with beers.
Though they are those, too.
(Not my daughter. )
They do things, too. But they know how to be present in the doing and to recognize when it’s time to stop the “do-ing” and start the “be-ing” for a while.
If this diatribe has you thinking of what a perfect analogy this makes to Mary and Martha I will eat you. Alive.
I have been called a Martha my whole life.
Like it’s a bad thing.
Like she was a bad person.
Who just wanted things to be perfect for the one she loved more than anything.
Bad Martha.
Bad.
I get it.
Mary did what was better.
She did.
Mary was a be-er.
But I’m not Mary.
Or Martha, for that matter.
I’m me.
I’m a do-er.
Who doesn’t want to stop the do-ing.
Because that’s part of who I am.
But I want to learn how to be a better be-er.

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