I’m writing this over lunch, Ramen Noodles because they’re quick, and break-room coffee, because it’s free. I feel a little behind because I don’t have a post scheduled to go out today. I’m not–I spent yesterday writing a post for IWSG, which means I’m actually more or less exactly where I was before, but further out.
I’m pretty much the only one here. Luck of the draw, or something, but there’s no one to interrupt, so we’ll see if I can get a post out by the end of my lunch hour.
Listening to co-workers gripe all morning has me thinking about how many of us would like to quit the day job, and how few of us ever actually get there.
It’s the letting go that scares me. One giant leap, or half a dozen small steps, and then, the plunge… It’s not just the income, although a reliable, predictable, steady income does have it’s allure. Part of it’s the structure. And insurance isn’t too bad a perk, either.
One of the big things I notice is that the more time I have, the less I seem to get done in that time. So… if I actually did quit, I’d have to figure out some concrete schedule to keep me from frittering my day away. I might actually do better starting two businesses than just one. Three full-time jobs, and suddenly every minute counts.
And, today, I happen to be in a particularly admiring and awestruck mood, in which every single person I see has skills and talents I’d love to have. And I keep wondering Why are you still here? You could…
Fill in the blank.
And maybe I’m right. Maybe they really could, if they thought about it, and really threw themselves into it.
Maybe I could, too.
Why am I still here?
What would it take to get me to jump?
How certain would I have to be?
Deep down inside, what I really want is income, and stability, but without being tied down to one place. I’d like to be able to wake up in a different state tomorrow, and still be able to do my job. Then, I’d probably go out and do something. See what the next place has to offer.
How close to that can my writing take me? Where do I need to pick up the next dream-wagon? How many ‘jobs’ add up to I’m on the beach tomorrow?
I joke, from time to time, that I could make my living selling scatophiliac porn (don’t google that. Dictionary. Old school. Trust me) on the internet, but my managers would all want jobs. (Yes, that’s a joke. And yes, it’s in poor taste.)