I’m sitting on my balcony, watching- and this is weird- a white puffy dandelion drifting up past me in the wind that swirls around my highrise apartment. There are no dandelions anywhere near this concrete, steel, and stucco part of the city. Maybe it drifted over here all the way from the park. Or maybe it came from a neighbor who, like me, has a little balcony garden.
It’s beautiful, no matter what. I don’t spend enough time on my balcony. But this morning, I woke up and had breakfast on it with Kathi. Sundays rule.
I know I’m lucky. My new neighbors are an entire family, obviously coming out of a house and into a less-than-one-thousand-square-feet dwelling. You can tell by all the furniture they’re cramming into their small space. This is the reality of Los Angeles and much of the United States these days. But it’s OK. A space isn’t a life. A house isn’t family. And I think seeing them, living their lives, reminds me of this. Right now I can smell them grilling hamburgers on their sad little balcony. I think that’s cool. I’m sure we’ll never be more than hallway acquaintances- you know, the kind where if you see them coming or going you smile and say ‘hey’. That’s as it should be. This building is about transience. None of us is meant to be here all that long.
I am the 2nd most long-lived resident of this building now. I don’t know what my future housing situation will bring, but I’ve seen people come and go since I took up residence here. And it’s OK. We’re all OK.
Lately I’ve been working really hard for other people. I’ve put in a lot of hours, and let my own projects and my personal growth lag while I made other people look great. I’m realizing that I need to find a balance. This paper chase just isn’t worth it. I haven’t even been able to finish Couch Cases, for God’s sake.
Realizing this, I’ve started to turn down work that isn’t either well-paid or interesting. And the kind of work I want to do is preferably both. Sure, I know if I busted my ass I could make an extra hundred grand this year. But what’s the point, if it’s the kind of work that leaves you feeling empty and broken and prone to a heart attack?
Besides, I’m starting to suspect that turning down projects that suck can indeed lead to projects that rock. Funny how that works, but I’ve seen it happen to me and to others. I know I’m good at what I do, but if I accept just any job that comes my way all the time (there are times you have to bite the bullet and take an “eh” job) then you don’t give the universe the space to let truly wonderful things happen to you.
I started to feel this while I was in Hawaii. But I think it took me coming back and seeing how I’m letting other peoples’ needs waste my own potential and time to get me to act. I’m not against hard work. And experience shows that a lot of life is hard work. But, at the end of the day, I want to feel like I’m growing and accomplishing things. Not regressing. I believe I can find a way to reach Maslow’s pinnacle of his hierarchy of needs. I’m talking self-actualization, baby.
And why not? I deserve it. And so do you.
And what’s more, reaching this self-actualization peak doesn’t really have a direct relationship to the amount of paper you bring in. Ing Direct (my favorite online bank) has a new commercial out called “What’s Your Number?”, about how we all have numbers we’re taking with us everywhere.
I say leave your numbers at home. Let them go, when you at all can. Because the numbers are slavery. Live your life.
