As I pulled out of the driveway to head to Columbia, SC to visit my mother, I had the nagging feeling I was forgetting something. It wasn’t until the next day that I realized I had forgotten all my hanging clothes. I only had the clothes I wore, two pairs of heels and workout clothes. Wanting to take my mother to church for homecoming Sunday, I rushed out and purchased a quick, make-do outfit. It was way out of my normal shopping habits at a store I never go to. It was cheap—like $13 cheap, but it looked OK.

I’m an idea person. What that means is new things pop in my head all the time, especially while driving or in the shower. The four dreaded words my employees hate to hear come out of my mouth are, “I have an idea.” They know that means I will roll my idea out like a plush, crimson carpet awaiting George Clooney, get all excited, tell them why I believe it can be done and basically leave them to make it happen. I am not a good coordinator; I find it overwhelming.

I’m an idea person. What that means is new things pop in my head all the time, especially while driving or in the shower. The four dreaded words my employees hate to hear come out of my mouth are, “I have an idea.” They know that means I will roll my idea out like a plush, crimson carpet awaiting George Clooney, get all excited, tell them why I believe it can be done and basically leave them to make it happen. I am not a good coordinator; I find it overwhelming.

I have been toiling over this article all month, putting it off. Not because I didn’t know what to write or I didn’t have the time, but because I knew it was going to be a “come to Jesus” article, where I get real with myself. I knew I would be admitting things I’m not proud of. I knew it would mean staring down my actions and laying down the law.

As a school girl, I always felt back-to-school time was like a second new year—a time to start fresh with all new supplies, clothes, hopes and excitement. The night before the first day, I would lay out my outfit, pack my satchel with everything in perfect order and set the alarm with time to spare. A week later it was back to reality, sleeping through the alarm, scrambling for a clean pair of jeans and grabbing my books and papers in hopes everything I needed was in there. Basically, the thrill was gone.