In the past, work has allowed me to satisfy a need to help others and support myself, my family and community. For much of my life work was synonymous with identity. It’s odd but I never really had an idea of a specific profession or job when I was young. You know, like other kids would talk about being a teacher, or lawyer or singer. I didn’t think like that. Instead, I primarily focused on the type of lifestyle my work would afford me. During much of my career it was a means to an end. However, for the last few years I have spent my days podcasting and blogging. The independence of working for myself is both liberating and scary. There is no set schedule and my hours are solely determined by my commitment to my craft. There’s no employment handbook or manual to clearly communicate the number of hours I work, nor am I told, via handbook, what’s expected of me.
Turns out without the normal written rules touted by all my previous employers, I still operate within them. I set a schedule for work and stick to it. Most days I seem to be just as demanding of myself as I was in my previous jobs. I have days when I am pleased with what I am done and days when I am terribly frustrated with my job.
Alas, this new phase of work seems to somehow mirror all my prior phases. The hours are long and the work, at times, thankless. Even with that, I experience a common response to its mastery as has occurred in the past. Sometimes when I figure out a task that was difficult or produce a podcast or blog that I believe carries a bit of wisdom, I am immediately transported back to past work triumphs and think to myself with a smirk: How’d I get so lucky?
Lou
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