Or so I thought.

I’ve been relatively lucky in my day jobs. Actually no, scratch that. It’s not the job itself , or the “work” or ‘activity’ in that job .No , Its never the job itself that gave me satisfaction, or god forbid, joy at my achievement . I simply got lucky with the people alongside me. Some of my lifelong besties, started , as a work colleague. So for that alone I am grateful. But , it clouded my judgement in my work. Work became a place, where my friends and I  hung out.The job itself, was the pain in the arse, elephant in the room that I had to fit in around my happy place. 

 It’s the people I  worked with that  kept me sane.  I think  through my sheer desperation to cling onto something worthwhile in the 10 hours a day that I committed to the slog,   I  created my own self worth in my head, to compensate for the lack in my  day. If I am honest Its been years since I left a hard day at the desk and actually felt like I had contributed to something worthwhile. The revolving door of the  9 to 5 ,  and the tick tock of the second hand on a Friday afternoon. Live to Work ? Not a chance. Work is for idiots. My living blasted off Friday at precisly 4.59pm and abruptly crashed  Monday at 7.59am.

Then, one day  I sat down at the computer and a blank page stared back.  I started tapping words and as the pages filled my head space became a blur of ideas, sentences and thoughts, all rolled into one. Eventually I stopped. I glanced up at the clock, curious. Six hours later. What ? No, I blinked and checked the kitchen clock. Six hours. Gone. Swept away , without a coffee break, a chat at the photocopier or staring out to oblivion through my window, wishing I was anywhere but here.

I just kept writing, and the words kept coming. I felt something inside, what was it ? It was a bubble , inflating an empty space, I liked it, I liked it a lot. I sat back in my chair and scrolled back the pages.

Did I write all of that ? Chunks of narrative, a blur in my memory, like someone else had taken over my brain and I was reading it for the first time. Emotion, I felt saturated, my eyes hurt, my fingers ached and my whole body needed to stretch out and touch the sky; and then I smiled. This feels good.

It got me thinking. People write for a living; and get paid ……. How amazing would it be, to jump out of bed in the morning, knowing that your day is filled with something that gives you pleasure, satisfaction and  passion. Yes,  passion that’s what it was . WOW, what a moment of revelation. I love writing.Shout it out ! I LOVE TO WRITE. If only I could write as a job ! My WORK ? hang on a minute……if I did that….it would mean I Lived to work. Not the other way around ? My whole thinking , turned upside down.

Of course, for me its writing,but for you it could be photography, singing, open heart surgery or driving a school bus. Anything that makes you feel good, you enjoy doing and gives you a sense of worth and satisfaction. For me writing is the best thing in the world.For the next person , writing is their idea of a living hell and ironing their eyelashes the only sane option.

So, not so quick to judge now. I slow down my pace on the keyboard and reflect. It’s a new take on an old saying:

 . Work to Live- if you have to. Live to Work- I want to.  Hurl it at me or  I will yank it off its hinges and blow life into it until I turn blue , and one day, soon, someone will look down their nose at me and say ….‘You live to work ? Humph.” and I will turn , smile, knowing my work is my happy place – Yeah so what? I live to work and I absolutely love it !

Do you Live to work ? Do you want to ? Is your passion all too consuming or is it the frustration that you do not have the time, energy focus to get on with it ? I would love to hear your thoughts on it…………….

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