There's no ad that's particularly struck me this week, and given real life things, I'm in no mood to go out and find one. Instead I'm going to speak obliquely in order to speak specifically -- which is precisely why I love metaphor.
Not that long ago, I was in a great mood and a great place mentally. I was headed down a path that I loved -- a kind of scary path, but I was cool with that. And there I was, jogging along -- yes, jogging not walking -- when I catch sight of someone building a brick wall a mile down the path. The way, for now, is still clear. But each step I take forward is done with the knowledge that it brings me closer to that wall.
I know that if I make it to that wall faster than I thought I could, then the wall won't be complete and I can hop right over it. And even if the wall gets completed, there's a chance that I can get there before the mortar sets, and I can push my way through with force. Either way, I need to speed up if I want to continue.
The difficulty in speeding up has nothing to do with physical strength or the task of running down the path; it's entirely mental. Can I make it before the wall goes up? Will I be strong enough to push through it if it's built? Maybe I should just find some other path and take a nice easy stroll. It's hard to make yourself put one foot in front of the other when you're wondering if you should be backtracking as fast as possible.
Of course, if I can just get over my fear and trepidation, I can prove how stubborn and determined I really am. Once and for all, for myself and everyone else to see. ... And if that sounds like a vow, it's because it is.