This post is intended for a certain segment of the population, and after a few paragraphs you’ll know if it’s you (or someone you know).

Historically, I’ve had spectacular trouble getting normal, everyday things done: homework, chores, work projects, household maintenance, assigned reading, paperwork, personal goals, and setting the clocks back after a time change.

Nobody finds all of this stuff easy or matter-of-course. Life demands more than any of us can give. We each have to find a kind of equilibrium where we can tolerate ourselves, let some things drop, and get most of the important stuff done.

It’s been clear to me since childhood, though, that when it comes to the ability to meet those demands, the population exists on a bell curve, and I am on the left tail of it. I always marveled at how much normal, well-adjusted people get done. How quickly they dispatch an actionable thing – a form to fill out, an item to return — and how uncomplicated the question of doing it seems.

I don’t know how doing things feels to them, but to me it feels like I’m standing on a wobbly funhouse floor, with weights velcroed to my limbs and six different radio stations playing my in my brain.

The next time you’re walking down a well-trodden footpath through a wooded area, give a thought to the first person (or deer) who took that route.

Some determined being came through here when there was no path. They went straight into the woods. They didn’t circle around to try to find an easier way.

At any time you’re on a path, you can recreate the trailblazer’s ordeal by turning 90 degrees and walking straight into the messy, wet undergrowth that bounds the path now. If you do, you’ll immediately discover how much ease and comfort a path offers. From the first step, the dangers and costs of movement multiply.

For one thing, you aren’t sure where it’s safe to put your feet. You can easily roll an ankle or hook your foot on a low root, so you have to slow down and concentrate, feeling out each footfall.