Sometimes life can be overwhelming.  It can be hard for anyone sometimes to simply decide on the next thing to do.  There are lists, obligations, needs; and too few resources of money or energy or spirit to get done what needs doing.

I will begin with a brief story.

I used to live in a rural home set back from a tertiary road.  It had a large turn-around and a 140 foot driveway.  All of this was back when it was still common in New England to get several big snowstorms in a single winter and have snow on the ground from November to April.  Some mornings I would get up and look out on a foot or more of snow from the front of the garage to the road, and the plows had piled even more at the end of the drive.

In those days I didn’t have a snow blower and I couldn’t afford to pay for someone to plow me out every week or two.  But I had a shovel.  And I usually got up early.

Standing in my garage looking out at the, literally, tons of snow to be moved out of the way could be overwhelming, to say the least.

That was when I developed a philosophy of “one shovelful at a time.”  I would start at the garage door and take one shovelful of snow and toss it to the side.  “Well,” I would say to myself, “that wasn’t so bad.  I guess I’ll do another one.”  I didn’t look up toward the end of the driveway until I had passed the halfway point between the turn-around and the road.  With each shovelful I assessed how I was doing.  Was I too tired to continue?  Had I done enough for now?  Could I take one more?  And my goals changed as I went along.  One shovelful became, as I made some noticeable progress, this small area here, as far as that tree there, might as well cut through to the road, and so on.  I always left myself the option of stopping at any time.  There were, after all other things I could do.  Each of those options had their own consequences, of course; they might cost me money, or time, or I might miss work or an appointment; but I knew that and knew that continuing to shovel could also have consequences other than a clean driveway.  I could injure myself, or be too exhausted to do other things that needed doing, for instance.  Usually, though, I persisted, one shovelful at a time, until the job was done.

There are five stages to this method.  The first is to know what has to be done and break it down into smaller tasks.  Try not to focus on the whole chore or the whole list or the entirety of the need, but to isolate smaller pieces that are manageable in the moment.  The second is to start where you are.  See what is right in front of you that you can do right now.  Don’t worry about how it is related to the whole overwhelming task; it is doable and that’s what matters. Third, let your goals be flexible.  Some days you’ll feel like you can accomplish more than other days; and there will be days when the most important thing you can do is rest.  Fourth, be pleased with yourself for each thing you do.  If today you had a couple of boiled eggs for breakfast instead of Cocoa Puffs, it probably won’t move you meaningfully close to your weight loss goals, but good for you, anyway.  Tomorrow you can make the choice again.  And fifth, give yourself permission to stop when you need to.  Sometimes, the most stressful part of any task is thinking that it all has to be done now.  When we know that it’s a choice at each stage, we can often get a lot more done simply because it feels good to do it, rather than feeling stressed by the obligation.

The one thing this method requires of you is that you pay attention and stay as much as possible in the moment.  Learn to recognize your own feelings and needs; your fears and griefs and limitations as well as your strengths, your hopes, and your skills.  And honor, respect and accept all of them.  They are who you are.  They are fair and legitimate and honest. In each stage, allow yourself to face them and use them to decide which shovelful to take first.

Every choice we make in life is a beginning of something.  Sometimes we can see where it will all end, but sometimes we have to act on faith that we are headed where we want to go.  As long as we can see what is right before us, right now, then we can choose. 

And it doesn’t matter whether you have a small shovel or a great big front-end loader.  A shovel is a shovel; your shovel, your shovelful; one shovelful at a time.

I have tried to remember this over the years as I have faced loss and grief and anger and fear.  On those mornings when I have gotten out of bed not knowing what to do next, not wanting to do anything, feeling overwhelmed, I have tried to remember.  I say to myself, “I know what this is.  I know that there is more here than I can face right now.  But I can take a shower, or I can have some breakfast, or I can sit and feel what I’m feeling, cry or laugh or pound my pillow; and I can know that all of it is movement; all of it is a choice; all of it is a shovelful.  And when I have done whatever I have done in that moment, I can do the next thing or I can stop, knowing that one less shovelful of whatever it is stands between me and where I need to get to.

The blizzard is temporary.  The snow is finite.  The shovel is real.  And all you have to do right now is decide whether to use it.