Right now it's Saturday morning, and a part of me is already dreading that 5 AM alarm on Monday morning, drive to the shop, and 8-hour workday before I'll be allowed to come home again. But there's no getting out of it. I have to work. I have to pay rent and buy food and put gas in my car. So work owns me to some extent. And I think that's where the dread comes from: I feel enslaved to work when really I just want to do what I like doing. It's a pride thing. I want to rule my life, and I rebel when I encounter something that stakes a claim on the things I value: my time, my relationships, my stuff.
But you know what? I'm finding that there's a certain rhythm of life I tap into by going to work. I'm finding that I appreciate my free time more than I did before work started. I'm more productive in the hours that I'm home. I cherish the time I spend with my roommates more. It seems that work is establishing a kind of cadence to things in my life, like the beat of a good song: first the beat, then a pause. First this, then that. It's order that creates structure, which in turn creates beauty. You can't have a good beat without being on tempo, which requires a proper rhythm. Likewise, living well requires a well-ordered life. First work, then rest. First this, then that. Just like a song.
I don't think I'm ever going to hear that alarm at 5 AM and not want to punch something. But I'm learning to embrace work as something that connects me to life rather than keeps me from life. Just don't ask me to say that with a smile as I'm getting in my car at the buttcrack of dawn.
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