Upsetting my ambitious progress I am turning back down a familiar and dark road. My mind will be the determining factor. How, if everything is so great, am I enlisting in the hourly-retail-rigamarole again? What’s the fear? Money will run out. My enthusiasm may outstrip my ability to pay for my lifestyle while I am composing my life’s symphony.
What will be the tell? How will I know if this sinking feeling is temporary or the harbinger of something more serious?
Yesterday, I began my matriculation. Two-and-a-half hours on the clock and the phrase, “We want to get you paid for every hour you work.” Fuck.
Fuck no! My soul is screaming out. I can be so dramatic. It’s just a job. It’s not going to wreck me. It shouldn’t even slow my writing progress. In fact, the experience should give me more energy to fill the spaces I do have to be creative. Nothing like an hourly wage to motivate the job search.
Why am I afraid?
Have I seen great creative plans lead to disaster? Yes. Do I sense some change in my mental status at the moment? No. Is the anxiety partially fueled by the societal unrest in these closing hours of the United States of America being led by only men? Yes, that’s part of it.
I am afraid.
I am learning to listen to the fear rather than let it direct my next action. Sure, I’m rational about this. I’m also an evolving mind, an evolving artist, a man roaring into my mid-sixties with the bravado of a great writer. These sentences feel unhinged. Also, free. Powerful. Raw. Meta. I’m reaching here for something beyond what I’ve known before. Joining the cannon of stream-of-consciousness. Planting my flag, leaving a mark, making a name for myself.
And, starting my retail coffee journey out of fear or lack of confidence? Or pragmatism. I am not very creative when I can’t pay rent. In my not-so-distant past, it was child support that was crushing my motivation. Earning $15 an hour is bad enough. Only taking home about $5 after taxes and child support were taken out, heartless. Yes, you might say something about child support and how “men…” We both know that’s bullshit. Men can be the nurturing parent, the better parent, the optimistic parent. The courts are aligned to give moms the house, the majority of the time with the kids, and a hefty tax-free monthly payment.
That’s not how we discussed it. That’s not how we negotiated our settlements. That’s not in the best interest of the kids. It’s a lie. Dads are equal parents. Sure, there can be angry and vindictive assholes on either side. I’m telling you, it was my ex-wife who sacrificed our kids for her own insecurity and narcissistic fantasy about being the better parent, the more responsible parent, what the kids need is their mom.
I’m done with that reasoning. We’re done with that part of their lives. Now look. The child that was coddled and emasculated is struggling to become a man. Moms have a hard time giving their sons the energy and confidence required to be successful. By coddling their sons, these hyper-moms crush the balls of their little princes. In some odd way, Hamlet is a teaching story.
Science now proves a family with dad removed and shunned is 70% more likely to have depression, crime, and school/work attendance problems.
Shit, I don’t want to be “on the clock” again. I am not fired up about two fifteen-minute breaks and one thirty-minute lunch (unpaid). Am I proving a point to my son? Am I showing off, going for a novel adventure? Or am I blinking at the moment I should be lighting the torches on the wall of my empire? Am I afraid to try?
Let’s flip it. The wormhole I’m passing through is spiritual in nature. Am I better than all the hourly workers? Certainly not. Could I be doing something else with my time? Yes. Have I done the math? No. One hour of coaching will pay me more than an entire day of working at the grocery store. As lovely as this next adventure might be, is that a good use of my time? What are some other reasons? Fear. The coming holidays. Loneliness.
Those are not appropriate reasons.
When my friend said, “You need some structure,” he was trying to be encouraging. Do I need the structure of this job to stay healthy and productive? Hmm. Was I beginning to run down?
Sometimes, we can’t see the moment. Or we see it, fear it, and jump to something more comfortable. Or, in this case, something more uncomfortable, because that’s what feels safer. Shit.
Fear asks you to move toward something known and safe. Fear tells you to abandon or postpone the release. Don’t take the trip. Don’t risk too much. Play it safe.
I. Am. Not. Happy.
That last stuttered sentence is a lie. I am happy. I can taste fear from time to time, mostly about money. Money to support and encourage my struggling son. To celebrate and support my triumphant daughter, coming back to town from college, with a job, and hope, and a long future of delight. The money squeeze is not real. My momentum has become something I question now. Prayer and faith have not really provided for me in the past. Or, is that just my own myopic misery rising up to meet my doubt?
What if I don’t start? What if I start and quit? How will I keep my mindfulness and fitness regimen together with a 40-hour job? Do I need the additional health benefits? Is it worth the trade? What’s the risk?
Breathe.
There is no risk. Show up. Orchestrate what’s next. Pay attention to the writing. Listen to your body and moods emerging. This is a learning moment. Testing my fallback for retirement should I not get another high-paying executive job. What will that look like? How will I sustain myself? How will I gain relevance in both my writing and my parenting?
Money makes the world go round. Lack of money kills the best of plans and creative visions. In the past, I have seen my grand designs wreak havoc on my life. This is not the past. My eyes are open. I am anticipating fascination and wonder.
An unwinding was beginning to happen. I can’t just ignore the income gap. I have also been crushed by magical thinking and avoidant behavior. I can’t ignore my bank balance. I also can’t just assume this is the best path for me. It is critical for me to stay focused on writing. To have the time and energy to write.
Nothing was off, is off, except for my cash flow. “You don’t have a money problem,” my friend said. “You have a cashflow problem.”
I do not have a creativity flow problem. As I dip my toe into the regrets of my past experiences I am feeling the changes in my life. My happiness is unmeasured. The flow and smile of life ahead is an open road. There are many twists and turns. Today, adding recurring revenue remains part of the plan. I am the architect and project manager of the plan. I am the author and the worker. An honorable interleave.
A nightmare of being pulled under the surface of the ocean by a soul-killing job is still possible. The road ahead is mine to navigate. I am a receiver.