I've never schlepped. If you know me, you might think I have quite often. Some very well-founded arguments can even be made that as schleppers go, I am their champion, their expert and their leader. Still, I am not a schlepper.
There has been more than a good portion of my life spent disheveled, disjointed, uncoordinated. I've hauled, dragged, pushed, pulled and piled. But never ever have I schlepped. I feel like I'm missing out.
As one who has dragged, with schlep being Yiddish for 'to drag', it stands to reason that I have schlepped. But no. Schlepping, if done right, requires more than me in front, pulling with an unwilling parcel of something fighting gravity on the ground, sliding. There's an awkwardness to it. I'm awkward, and, again, why not a schlepper?
Too much thought goes into moving things from here to there. I might put off the execution of the necessary move until things are rushed. A schlepper never plans. I have plans, Details. Spreadsheets. Timelines. I'm great for planning. It is a big part of managing communications projects, and an a lot of the rest of my life. When it comes to stuff transfer, I'm not as diligent in my delivery, but I am as much of a planner.
And not a schlepper.