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In my driveway yesterday...
I find myself these days considering the entire meaning of the word “work.” I think perhaps we have either too limited a definition, or too many meanings. When someone says, “I work from home,” the immediate answering question is, “Who for?” and if the person being asked isn’t well-heeled, sometimes the assumption is that he’s a slacker. Many companies don’t like the idea of telecommuting because management can’t look over the employees’ shoulders.
Currently, according to the unemployment division, I don’ t work. I’m applying for writing jobs — things that will make them happy – but my ultimate goal is to succeed financially on my own — to actually not need a “job.” This does not preclude work, or clients, but it eliminates the servant-master assumption of the traditional corporate structure, where I am vulnerable to whether or not I have a good boss. Heh.
Right now I’m fond of saying I work for a slave driver – me. Nothing I do is good enough. I’m always pushing to do more, accomplish more, get running faster! Be more productive. It’s the kind of situation where, if it were external, from any employer, I’d be looking for a new job. (I thought I was thriving emotionally and physically, but I’ve realized recently that I need to treat myself as a treasured employee, and not be the kind of manager to myself that I hated in the corporate world!). I saw my old coworkers a couple weeks ago, and they told me how good I looked. I feel more myself than I have in years, especially now that I’m taking care of myself.
And yes, I am working very hard. And I’m stressed about getting the new line out, getting the product I’m wrapping up pulled together, marketing, and all. But I’m doing it. And even with the stress, I’m enjoying myself.