from a journal
New day. New attitude and practice. Prophetic this morning feels, looking forward to work and new projects. Work, defining us and our sights. What I want… more business, more opportunities, and we CANNOT wait for any. No opportunity should be hoped for, but created. My talk this weekend, about Life over Linearity, but also including work, and how creativity is necessitated by even the idea of work, career advancement and what have.
Forgetting yesterday and its turbulence, in whatever regard. Today, the aim is to WORK. To create. I have about an hour, and some minutes, to situate self into the day, in this quiet and empty house. Wife and babies just leaving and here I am, ready for the day. Writing and thinking freely, anticipating the unanticipated and phantasmagorically measured. Hearing the jazz and it tells me to stop thinking. To write, and put words on pages in storms, in unpredictable fronts. I’m writing abut work, today, and all days. The Bottled Ox is one eager to labor. Something in the hour, this track, in me. Thinking of my first job, at the grocery store in Belmont, and how I was happy to have a job at first but resentful of what I was doing, bagging groceries. I often think how far away from that, from doing that I am. And, truly, it’s all the same. All work we assume is elected. No one makes me be an adjunct. No one forced me to apply. No one forced me to do anything. All was elected. By ME. I see that.
Just sent a letter to a winery, hoping to do some sales and marketing work, on the side. No so much a “side hustle”. I hate that term, frankly. Just to build brand. My brand, I guess you could say, but theirs as well. Telling stories about the winery, the property, the wines, the people, what tasting wine is, how to approach wine (and there is no one way, other than the way YOU approach it), and other tones of which I haven’t yet thought.
Work, to work, to create, to not let nay interfere with your momentum, beat. Mindful of time, as all business people are. Today in field, study it. Study the Lead, the Reps, what they say and how the service is sold. How they do their jobs. How I do my job, how I can do it more. So I pose to self, how do I do it more. How do I make a story, not so much a career, out of work. I told Tasha that one day, during one of our over and hour long chats. “Anymore,, I write about work. What it does to us, how it confirms and affirms, offer opportunity to learn deeper into our identities.” Don’t think I said that, exactly, but what I intoned. I need this time before the day, working before work. Traveling from idea to idea before driving from Santa Rosa to just near Castro in SF.
Work. I don’t much care for that word, but love the connotation and embodiment of work. What you do. So you gather yourself at day’s beginning, what you want from day. You write it down or not but over and over you reiterate and punctuate it to self. First, to enjoy the day, euthanizing negativity. Utterly. Not letting it speak to you and certainly not have any ability to shift your disposition one way or the other. Your efforts, your creations and productivity, your forward, bringing you what you want. You won’t reach There by planning excessively and contemplating the possibles and plausibles, the hypotheticals and what might happen if this might happen, if you were to do this. Why not just leap. Not necessarily leaping blindly, but at times yes, leaping with no foresight or measurement. This morning has me speaking more than freely and not just NOT thinking, but wild in creative, in my sentences, sights and assurances that my aims will encounter my persistence and animalistic insistence. Not this. Note it for you and I for me and this story I’m compiling. More poetry, that’s life, that’s the wildness we should all seek, in every turn and movement and meditation, act, self-promise and sight.
You sip your coffee while writing the day’s aims, your chapter’s laurels if you would. You’re confirmed in your motion. Life with its own angularity of linearity, shedding and burying any banality. For a career, decide that you will be the one deciding. Not others with their infinitesimal suggestions and attempts to “coach”. Anyone eager to coach you, should alarm you. They have no understanding your character composition, and if they do or think they do, it not to the degree that you know you. Your character was written by you. Your work was put in place, on page, by you, the author.
Day, new. Page, blank. You, electric and positively charged for what’s ahead. Guess you could say this is a note to self and a reaction to yesterday which was riddled with its own obstructing arragements. Newness in this chair, in your chair, collecting self and vision, visions of what’s to be in the sentences, where you are and what you do. Thinking of everything I’ve done, for work, where I’ve worked and what applications I’ve filled out, the CV’s and intention letters I’ve submitted, everyone I’ve talked to and where I’ve sold ME. Makes you understand that time just moves and you need move with it, and not swim in circles in your own thoughts, in your own measurements and attempts to forecast what’s approaching. You learn from what’s at your experiential 6, what’s been transacted. And what do you see, what do you read in the pages turn over on the left. Take that and use as interpretive lens for page on right, what you’re to write and read. How do you want to be read? Today, in its Newness, you have assured sight.