Drunk on indolence
I was laid off in October and haven’t worked since the 30th. Being discarded is a good reminder that there’s nothing personal about a job.
Sure, taking pride in the company is a great thing. It’s the only way to work — to be the greatest asset and completely immerse yourself in the industry. If the brand isn’t worth evangelizing you either need to contribute more to the brand or find a new company. But in the end you’re as disposable as the rest. That’s the way it goes. The only excuse for legitimate emotional involvement is to conceive the business from the top down.
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Suddenly having no obligations feels stupendous. Everything that was stressful last week is minutiae this week.
Early on in my workforce history I mastered the art of reframing work into leisure. My body was convinced that work shifts were quick things I had to do on the way to someplace else, not unlike stopping by the gas station to fill the tank. When I got into advanced anti-work theory I could make myself believe my cubicle was my bedroom. (That one was a little more challenging with all the external influences.)
Even with all that, nothing compares to the utter clarity achieved when one can act as one’s own authority 168 hours a week instead of just 128. Nothing matters except the basic functions of life, namely sustenance and attunement with nature.
I find myself walking the streets lackadaisically, almost in a permanent alpha state. The soft wind, chilly climate, sounds are all enhanced. A complete sense of euphoria wells inside, and I feel genuine serenity, almost like I can lay down anywhere and slumber. Upon inspection, it’s not a spatial comfort. It’s a mating dance with time.
The last experimentation with time was performed when I was much younger. Incidentally, I had the exact same amount of money saved. It dwindled and became a crisis of survival that introduced a whole new subset of lessons about priorities. But then I was inclusive and created internal emotion like it was my job. Fun by any means necessary. Excitement qua business.
This time I have more business acumen and I’m involved in more external creation — an equal amount of ideas but a fearless blueprint for action. Business qua art. A business that’s PERSONAL. My own offspring.
The clearance of these mere forty weekly hours have opened up thousands worth of production.
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The loneliness of winter is unavoidable, but I truly believe that one’s attitude as he or she enters a cold season determines the mood until Spring. This month was a great entry.
