Finding Work

We tend to think of work as our ticket to money. And we want money because we want all that stuff that we believe we can and should have. Some of that stuff is nice - nothing wrong with creature comforts. And money is nice.

But work, real work, not the drag-your-tired-ass-out-of-bed-and-sleepwalk-through-a-numb-routine kind, but the kind of work that fulfills you and challenges you and allows you as a person to contribute your unique skills and abilities to the world is not at all about money.

Often making money and engaging in your real work are at opposite ends of the life spectrum. I'm thinking of a friend who was strangely delighted to be laid off from his "real" job because it freed him to pursue his writing work. Or me, losing my beloved career and now getting on with finding another place to hang my productivity-hat.

As the new year begins, the closest I've come to a resolution in this area is to strengthen this belief: if something is worth my time, it is - whether I get paid or not.

That means that I'm willing to write grants for free or whatever pay they'll offer if I like the organization and believe I can help people. The bottom line is that I'll want to be writing SOMETHING anyway, and it's nice to have a purpose. It keeps me going; it sparks my juices; it connects me with society in a positive way.

I've had some really freeing salary negotiations where I just say, Okay, here's the rate I'd like, but pay me whatever you want. I'll write for you no matter what.

I truly believe that when I approach the world and others with this attitude of loving generousity and trust that life will sustain me, work falls into place. And money follows behind it.
Let's all get down to work!

Writer's Block

For the first time in a long while, blankness grabbed hold of me today as I stared at my computer screen.

I had a grant to write. It was already half-way done when I opened my document in my favorite café this morning. I read the directions for application. I reviewed the points I wanted to hit. I reread what I’d written to get a running start.

Then I sat there.

I looked around. I stared blankly out the window at the blue sky and watched cars drive by.

I realized I wasn’t writing. So I brought my focus back to typing a few words.

Next thing I knew I was watching a fly buzz against the chipped windowsill. The coffee-drinking lady reading a novel became fascinating.

I forced myself back to the page. Then I thought, maybe I should order a sandwich. I studied the overhead menu, craning my neck. Hmm, maybe I should start eating beef again. Am I getting enough iron?

One more time, I shook it off and took myself in hand.

“Look, You,” I said sternly, “just write. Let it be bad. But for God’s sake, fill this page with words and do it now. You are not allowed to eat any lunch unless you write for at least 15 minutes.”

That did it. The flow opened up and an hour later, the grant was finished. And I was hungry!

Whew.