I keep getting asked “What are you going to do?” Or even the occasional “Are you going to lose your insurance?” All I’m thinking about now is how it feels like that sensation of reaching the surface of the water just as your lungs run out of air. Less than an hour left. Less than 60 minutes to bleed off the clock. Hell, I think that’s the same clock that I’ve stared at for nearly twelve years now. Just ticking there on the wall like some clock…on a wall…ticking.
All those questions are ok to ask. Where am I going and why? What will I do? Answering them would be the sane mode for rendering this epitaph of a “successful” run of a “career” in “healthcare”. Sanity, such as it is, has no place in the forgotten progression of human spirit. This growth in spirit or rather, the survival of it, is a good enough reason for leaving.
The message here this morning is this: it’s hate. Hate your job. Hate your standing in life. Bitch about them. Complain about them. Do all the things that people who hate things do. But act. Don’t stop at the identification of the problem. Change the outcome of your own life.
Thirty minutes to go now….
Are you ready for the secret? To change, you’ll have to work harder than you ever imagined possible. There will be a cost. You can lose people. You can lose sleep. You can almost lose yourself. But the cost won’t matter. Find a direction that has a little more light than the others. It might not be a direction you think goes anywhere, and it very well might not. Failure after all, is failure, but it’s not an ending. Things will happen. Shit will go south and walls will be hit head on. None of that matters. What matters is the ability to find it in yourself not to quit at the failure. If you keep going, you can never be stopped.
It’s alright to be afraid. Fear keeps you sharp. Fear wraps you in warm comfort. That’s when you know it’s time to go off on whatever bloodshot run of insanity which will lead to your own success. I won’t lie to you and say that I knew I’d be sitting here one morning about to quit my job in exchange for going off to support myself and a healthy appetite for strong drink just by scribing out words and making photographs. What I did know is that I couldn’t continue on in some stupor of complacency; living quietly among the people who end sentences about their dreams with “maybe one day.”
If you find yourself existing with a forced smile painted across your face while trying to figure out what will make you feel better then you’ve started on the path to that glorious hate; the hate that will lead you home. So, my fellow weary traveler of life, allow me to lend some assurance that anything is possible. Your dreams are possible even if you don’t know exactly what they are yet. You can find the satisfaction that’s missing from everything you do. It will be better than any feeling you can imagine. But you will never get there if you don’t start. Just fucking start.
Originally posted on the morning of August 3rd, 2017…as I prepared to walk out of my workplace for the last time.
Photomaker, author, adventurer, educator, and self-professed bacon addict. You can usually find me on some distant trail making photographs or at my computer writing about all the elegant madness that is photography. Pick up a copy of my new photo book of wild pony portraits, Faces of Grayson.