I bowed out with a lie. I couldn’t do it. Returning to the scene of the crimes was okay in theory, but as my schedule ticked closer I knew I would be crushed by eight hours on my feet for about $100 after taxes. Clocking in, clocking out for my 30-minute lunch break. (Partners must eat outside or in the breakroom.)
Nope.
New plan.
Find the stuff that pays. Keep a schedule of activities. Stay focused on what’s important. Don’t lose hope just at the moment when things are exploding creatively for you. THIS IS THE MOMENT.
Okay, so losing people in your life tends to light a fire. Don’t miss the message. He was a few years older than me, a confidant, and now he’s gone. All of his hopes and dreams. Even his poetry… Wait, I was going to go find that before it’s lost. I got him to write a few of them on Medium. Just a second, I’ll get right back to you.
That’s not important right now. Here’s what’s important.
Push this creative cycle with everything I’ve got.
Invest structured time to work, big job hunting, and building some business
Stay mindful and watch for signs of anxiety
Don’t freak out
I think the last one, it where I was headed. I have rerouted the last few months of 2024 to be more mindful of my time on Earth. At $17 an hour… No. I couldn’t do it.
This was today. I was slightly anxious as I went to sleep last night. Anxious about my first shift at the grocery store, or anxious to say no to minimal wage and keep writing and working on my creative pursuits with even more vigor and focus. This time will be different. I don’t need to plug into the societal anxiety about the election, the economy, or my cat’s worry that their food dish is empty.
Oh, I have cats now. Two of them. Brother and Sister. They are not the reason I didn’t take the job.
George is the reason. He was ten years older. Where will I be in ten years if I keep postponing the push with anxious diversions? The writing is evolving with every hour I spend at craft. My voice is growing deeper. And, in this season of great energy and focus, I can ramp my intention up. I can find an agent. I can keep pressing on the “publish” button.
Stay the course.
Just a week ago I was amazed at how genuinely happy I was. Why would I give this up? Is there a financial crisis? No. I panicked. I reverted to old behaviors. Slipping back to the moment when I did take the grocery store job. This is not that moment.
I keep telling myself this.
I am okay. I have enough money. I am not at risk. I am writing at the height of my abilities and inspired to continue without pause. What if I really go for it and fail? Oh.
In so many of my past creative struggles, as I neared what I imagined was my “moment,” the moment passed, I was broke and living with my mom at fifty-something years old. Fuck. This is not that moment.
This is a stressful moment, no doubt. All of the world is akimbo.
George’s memorial service is a week from tomorrow. All that love gone. All of the future things I can’t say to him, or get his feedback. And, no, I could not find his poems. I will ask at the memorial about his journals and things. I could invest some hours in honoring his writing and photography. Mostly, though, I can learn from his life.
He was leaving for Mexico the morning he died in his sleep. He had not found a new lover so he was going with his platoian girlfriend who tried to wake him. Then called and waited for the fire department. Then the coroner’s office. Then, someone has to make all the arrangements for the dog, the cat, the house, the car. All poof. Gone. We are left here to carry on.
The voice is clear.
There is no time to waste, bitching about anything, just get on with it. Want to go to San Miguel with a woman, go. The one thing he was going to help me with, was my own retirement journey. He’d mapped it all out for himself. He had formulas, strategies, roadmaps for how his future twenty-or-so years would play out. Cut mid-stream, I’d say he was in the process of living his best life. He was showing me how to take care of your soul while planning a course for “next.”
I’m not in that next phase yet, but I’m close. Yesterday, a recruiter on a Zoom call began talking about ageism. Then he asked me how old I was and proceeded to tell me how I should not be looking for a job, but instead, focus on building on the success of my current business. Well, I didn’t have the heart to tell him. I’m not running that business. It’s a front.
I am not retiring either unless my accountant tells me that’s what’s best. I still have a number of years of productive employment. Not menial labor. Not at $17 an hour, minus taxes, insurance, and a 15% grocery discount (alcohol not included). No no no no no. This is not the way.
Awaken motherfucker. Stop delaying. Stop focusing on the wrong activities. Stop jacking yourself off with this ad campaign that makes it look so successful. Stop the show. Get on with the dance. It’s time. This is the time. There’s no more time left for hawking coffee beans in the fancy store. That’s not how you got here. That’s what you did when you were falling apart. This is life. This is yes. This is “hello god, it’s me, John” all over again.
And I’m ready for an answer.
