I used to enjoy working. I even liked working 9-hour days. I was happy to put in as much time as my job demanded. It provided me with a great sense of accomplishment and satisfaction.
I work no less hard these days, but I don’t enjoy it anymore. It’s a distraction. And I’m frustrated by how much time I spend on work…from the 30-minute drive to and from the office, to getting up at the crack of dawn so that I have enough time to complete a checklist of tasks–put on my face, pick out an outfit, feed the dogs, make my lunch–to spending eight or more hours sitting at my desk working on a variety of projects. Some of my work is interesting; most of it is not. When I do get to spend time working on creative concepts, writing advertising headlines and subheads, I tell myself that I’m lucky to get paid to write and draw. But that happens much too rarely because I spend most of each day up to my ears in product disclosure, making sure that every claim I make about my product is adequately supported. The result is that I’ve come to think of most of what I do as “paperwork.”
Even though I work in the creative department surrounded by incredibly intelligent, funny and, of course, creative people, even though I value the satisfaction of a hard day’s work, even though I like the paycheck, and even though I never imagined myself as anything other than a working woman, I’d give it up in a nano-second for a life of non-productive “slobbery.” Eventually, I’d like to transition to writing freelance full time, but I’d even give that up if I could.
Oh, I’d still write–every day, in fact–but I’d write for me. I’d blog, work on my autobiography and the screenplay I have cooked up in my head. I’d wake every day around 8:00 or 8:30 and take my dogs for a 3-mile walk. Then, I’d hit the gym for an hour, maybe two, return home and take a short nap. In the afternoon, I’d sit down and write for two to three hours and then begin making dinner. I love to cook, so I’d try a new recipe almost every day. I’d also entertain myself making pies and pastires and cookies, and I might even try to sell them to the coffee shop around the corner. Maybe I’d even try to teach again, just one or two classes a week–that’s work I still enjoy. I’d also keep the house clean; the cleaner my house is, the more I love to be in it. And I’d keep up with the laundry. I’d even have time to take on a few home improvement projects, like touching up the white wood trim and sanding and repainting the front door. After dinner, I’d sit down to my computer again and try to write for another hour or two, after which I would retire to my favorite chair and read until bedtime.
I suppose it’s sad that I measure my success as a person according to how many hours I work each day. Yeah, it is sad. But I can change that. No, I will change that.