Obligation is a sin, but commitment is beautiful.

After many moons of floundering, I’m finally getting the ship turned around. I’m back on course. Or getting there.

They say hesitation will kill you. They are not wrong. It nearly killed me. I’ve learned one needs purpose. As glorious as it may feel, in the moment, to stay in bed—all day, the inactivity can be addicting. And maddening. Which provided me a glimpse of why too much “self care” is bad, and creates people you never see again. And eventually saps the motivation to do something relatively effortless, and potentially leisure enabling, like writing.

Ten pages become five. Five become one. One page becomes 300 words. Then 100. Then... well, I’ll do it tomorrow. Or Sunday. Or in September.

Reenter intention, stage left.

Okay, jackass. You have so many great ideas. And this book is going to be fucking brilliant! A modest seller, at least. It will enable you to buy that house you’re eyeing that goes on sale next month.

But...

You haven’t been working enough. You’re out of cash. And you no longer want to be where you’re at.

So, now it’s time for a second job. Positive cashflow. This poor writer narrative isn’t working for you. It may make you better, funnier, and more authentic, but it’s beginning to piss a lot of people off.

Finding something that isn’t an “obligation,” can be challenging, but I think I have found it. It was billed as “freedom.” And I believe that. Part time, with a lot of windshield therapy. Time to think. Time to take notes. Time to commit. Time to set goals.

As such, I am committing to walking away from my current situation on October 1, 2022. I don’t know what that looks like beyond that. All I know is I no longer want to live where I am living. A summer home in the north woods would be nice, even a permanent home; but travel is calling again. And those glorious Marriott beds.

So, it’ll be a summer of work, and limited travel. A means to an end.

What i'm listening to:

My 16th Apology
Shakespear's Sister
Hormonally Yours