Tuesday, April 18, 2006
Is it possible to actually enjoy what you do for a living?
If you feel like you are “talking yourself” through the process all the time, does that mean you are not having fun?
Is it a problem if you memorize the carpet fibre colors in your office and compare them to weird foods, such as spinach soufflé and cream of mushroom soup, and somehow those weird food comparisons become the driving metaphysical burden of proof that your life is a rote canned walk-through and not an actual pleasure dome of possibility?
I compare this existential struggle to the love paradigm. If I know what it feels like to be in love, and I do, then surely I would know what it feels like to be doing something with my life that I like.
Yeah, we’re back to this again. Sorry.
It is better to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all.
How much wood would a woodchuck chuck if a woodchuck could chuck wood?
Have you ever worked with an Undermining Martyr before? Undermining Martyrs are disloyal and often have a vast array of ongoing never-ending symptoms, like a chronic kennel cough, soul sapping fatigue, and a tendency toward self-serving references about “being in the office all the time.”
Personally? I am on a quest, that often feels futile, to do something gratifying and purposeful and meaningful with my life.
The road to hell is paved with good intentions.
I think I have truly been in love three times in my life.
Maybe those extra love opportunities are what's undermining my chance at career happiness!!!
I would take being happy in love over being happy in my career.
I would take it, because that’s what I’ve got!
And that’s good. So we’re going to be appreciative. And ignore the overly dramatic symptoms of the Undermining Martyr.
Jesus H. Christ, the statute of limitations on that fucking cough has P-A-S-S-E-D!
Don’t you hate it when you’re not sympathetic with others?
Have you ever wanted to give someone a Vitamin C intravenous drip and push them out a window?
I FedExed a package last week—a personal one, not for work—and I just went to fedex.com to see if it landed and there is this adorable little tracking trail of my little pak’s pick up, transit, drop off and the initial and last name of the person who signed for my package.
A small piece of my heart is in that package, and so I am glad to know its Peter Pan midnight flight of a journey. The little log reminds me of a birth journal, a little life haiku involving the fairy dust trajectory of my small dream, that I sent out into the world, on its own.
I cast my net for some help with this small dream, and everyone I wrote to responded and helped me. That meant a lot to me. I think, even if it doesn’t happen, it means a lot when people have faith in you.
And that’s what’s going to carry us above the clouds today while we continue talking ourself off the career ledge conundrum.
P.S.--it was raining yesterday morning and as I was leaving the house I said, "Shoot, I left my umbrella at work!"
MZA said, "It doesn't matter, you're just going from here to a garage."
I said, "Yeah, but it's a two block walk from the garage to my office!"
He said, "Oh, sugar melts!"
Because of his slight, adorable British accent, he pronounces "sugar," "shoo-gar."
It was a moment. I laffed. |
Cynicism is another word for reality