I've come to believe that I used to have this addiction (for lack of a better term) to complication. Not that I liked drama, because I don't, but I think I invited complications into my life because they offered me all kinds of excuses. "Oh, I *would* but I'm so b-u-s-y..." Or, "I *would* but I'm so b-r-o-k-e..."
I mean, come on, sister! I am a creative individual. What means this 'busy'? What means this 'broke'? And what kind of world am I manifesting if that's the kind of junk I've got packed into my sweet little Boho bag? I mean, really.
Broke and busy mean nothing in a world of creative engineering--internet, library, mentors, friends, barters, foraging, reading, learning, watching, listening, sitting, sleeping. All of these things are a) free and b) available (almost) any time. These are the kinds of wild-crafted resources just waiting to feed you into the next manifestation of yourself, a.k.a., your dream, dammit.
Our ancestors did not risk predators, plague, persecution, and Puritans (I don't know, but I needed another 'p' word and, well, Puritans were pretty restrictive and *did,* from time to time, like to entertain themselves with the occasional witch-hunt, so there you go...) just so we could lie on the couch complaining about our woeful, temperature-controlled lives.
So. Tough love and creativity. Those are the gifts I'm giving myself (for free!) today.