May 30, 2012
Last week, I left a job I held for over six years.
This week, I worked on my first freelance projects, chased after a few leads, and, in a controlled way, tried to break some of the routines that had ossified over the last six years.
And now, the first weekend of summer. Weekends have always meant “not work,” or at least “less work.” They were clear demarcations, a regularly scheduled break where I could eat strawberries and hang out with the girls. Memorial Day weekend moreso, standing both for Not Work and Is Summer.
This weekend? Memorial Day 2012? It was… good? I honestly don’t know, as my new life has blurred the line between weekday and weekend. I had a lazy Saturday morning on Thursday. Friday night, I finalized my business card design and wrote up a contract. Memorial Day was fraught with none of the peril that plagued last year’s holiday, as there was no re-entry to “Work” looming over my head.
I’ve always been drawn to people who make their work their life and in so doing, tap into a seemingly inexhaustible well of creativity and motivation. Maurice Sendak died a few weeks ago; it touched me in a way that caught me by surprise. While mourning Sendak online, I came across the excerpt below from Tell Them Anything You Want, in which he describes writing and drawing as “the only true happiness I’ve ever ever enjoyed in my life.”
“The whole promise is to do the work, sitting down at the drawing table, turning on the radio. And I think what a transcendent life this is, that I’m doing everything I want to do.”
For me, this is the life worth striving for: a life fully immersed in satisfying, rewarding work with people you love who inspire you. Fewer lines between work and life, a hazier definition of the weekend, the power to choose what you work on and why you work on it.
As for this blog, now that I’ve all but declared the weekend dead?
Let’s do it all over again. I’ll figure out the weekend thing as I go.