Well folks, here we are. It has been over thirty days since my last post, and I am not proud of it. In fact, I failed several goals I was aiming to accomplish, and yet, somehow, I am okay with all of that. Life happens when you are busy having fun.
The various flavors of the month include a full scoop of innovation, a smattering of family time, a shot of hell-raising, and a (lovin’) spoonful of relaxation. Yes people, we are in another state, doing research and building future goals.
On Being a Free Range Chicken
Unemployment has gifted our family with many ups and downs, the highs being more plentiful than lows. From my perspective I was given one of the most gracious gifts a person can receive: the gift of time and, even better, the gift of no agenda.
I was “free-range chickening” it, and I was receiving the blue ribbon award more often than not with my supreme ideas on where to go, what to do, and how to fill our time. The gremlins and I were, and still are, knocking it out of the park.
But then pesky work came along and ruined it all.
Smile-Hustle-Smile-Hustle. Lather. Rinse. Repeat.
When we drove cross-country and stopped in Nashville, we of course had to check out the hottest chicken spot out there – Hattie B’s Hot Chicken. Now that free (or not free, I am not sure. I failed to research their food sourcing practices) range chicken was the true winner. Saucy, seasoned, crispy, tender….are you drooling yet?
The chicken was exquisite, but the apparel won the award for the day. Situated in my direct vision was a shirt hanging up that said “Smile, Hustle, Smile Hustle,” intertwined as a symbiotic relationship. I immediately gave up my money and bore the threads as the slogan described my Wild West Entreprenuerial lifestyle change to a T.
Get a Haircut and Get a Real Job
Since I decided to give up my leader responsibilities, a not-so-lavish salary, and the expectation to work fifty plus hours per week on items handed to me from unseen dictators, I decided to start working on my own terms and following my passions. My initial dream for quitting my job was to start up a shop, and I am slightly proud (in a semi-shy way) to say that I can check that box halfway, or all the way depending on how you look at it.
My store was opened in November, hitting my mark of having tangible results within a year of being unemployed.
You’re Fooling Yourself If You Don’t Believe It
A wise friend recently told me to be kinder to myself for missing deadlines. They told me to create an alter ego that could coach, coax, and listen to the person stressing, screaming, and never forgiving themselves for not completing a project in time.
I tried this tactic with my writing as I discovered that although writing is a true passion, stress-reliever, and motivator for me, it is the one thing I avoid like the plague as I somehow believe that time will magically be carved out by shiny little elves that follow me around and pick up my crumbs and fan me when I get sweaty. Fun fact – the elves never showed up. They ditched me back at that one lady that gives them free beef jerky and candy canes; she knows what is up.
So as I waited for these elfin creatures to arrive, I kept filling my time with other things I loved: tie-dye, soap-making, website-building, reconnecting with old friends who have never fully gone out of my life but remain part of the Genius Club (at least those who were willing to communicate back). Some people ditched me, perhaps it was for the better, I have a grand feeling that there are companions standing alongside the imaginary road of life with their thumbs sticking out, ready for me to pick them up on my Magic School Bus, equipped with snacks , cocktails, and herbal remedies that seem to make music sound just a tinge better. Those future friends will balance it out.
Alas, I became so good at the [insert new hobby here] game that I lost track of the primary game I was playing. I partied all night, hobbied/partially raised kids during the day (most times I failed on my motherly duties when business picked up), and then the weirdest thing started happening. I got moody.
The Day the Scary Happiness (Almost) Ended
For no reason, I got irritated. I was snippy, I was down in the dumps, I spent a week with my parents as a snooty sassafras rather than an energetic adventurer. But why? My life was damn near perfect being a free-range chicken roaming the mountainsides. Sure, numerous roadblocks and speedbumps had exposed themselves during this time, lessons had been learned, as John Cragie says, “bad people had to get elected…civilizations had to crumble”, so on and so forth, but all of that is to be expected. Life is tough no matter what the conditions may be. But amidst the adversities, what was I so turned up about?
So I began to acknowledge these feelings as they poked and pestered me as routine as my exercise regimen. Every time my blood pressure rose or my anxiety strangled my energy, I would reflect. Dissect. Diagnose. Correct.
The villian’s face never revealed itself after a few weeks of tremors and trepidations, but a Stress-Relieving Goblin hovered over me, steaming its hot breath right in my age-spot ridden face, laughing and getting its spittle in my eyes. The monster was Writing, and it haunts me like a feroucious, hangry toddler, not letting my leg go until I cough up the fruit snacks and Chex Mix. Threatening to scream or pee its pants if I hold out on the spicy pistachios. That damn goblin, I tell you.
Every time I wrote, the sadness seeped out of my brain like syrup from a freshly-tapped maple tree. I let the madness out, and damn it felt good.
There’s Got To Be Some Changes Made, Gotta Make A Change Someway
Because of my (what seemed like) everlasting depression, I decided something has to give.
Sadness is the body’s way of telling you it’s time to do something different.
So I set out to do something different, even though I had already been doing many various tricks and trades, I still needed a change, and I knew it. I knew I needed to write more, but my five year plan consisted of being a dinosaur supervisor – raising children and being an innovator only on the side. Having a full time writing gig feels unreal and impossible. The defeat of it all was an elixer effective enough to repel me from doing the act that I loved the most – writing stories and sharing my brain on paper.
Instead of pushing my demon aside and exorcising them from my body, I decided to rebuild a harmonious house, a way the goblin and I can co-create, high-five during lunch time, and do one of those half-jumps for a sweet photo that we would use on our combined Facebook profile page. Life would be sweet with the Writing Goblin and I.
And so here we are, two days from embarking on an epic writing walkabout, or roundabout, or sitabout, or whatever the %&*! you do when you are without children for more than two hours and have a bundle of time to spend on binging TV shows.
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