Day's Work, Life's Work

Morning Thoughts #129

Hear the birds remark on the day, by some invisible string, their beaks clasp and pull up the first light. I’ve weighed out some coffee grounds and water, played matchmaker with them, and opened a book with the hope of jumpstarting a foggy brain. An important preamble for the workday to come.

Overcoming any kind of challenge is also an invitation for a greater one. Cheers to you who’ve beaten back the sad American pastime of immediate gratification. You’ve learned the art of investment, in every sense (and not just a monetary one). But steel yourself, you’ve won this battle only to prove yourself worthy of a stronger foe. The allure of immediate production waits to ensnare.

Don’t look back, it’s almost always better to produce than to consume. But what good is production stolen from you the moment after it’s been produced? “No, no, no, I’ve sold it!” you say, offering as proof the refilled coffers of your dopamine supply.

But what really have you been left with if this is all you can claim? Nothing, except the sense you’ve earned the right to not produce with a clean conscience. Which is all well and good if your production transcends the immediate. But if it doesn’t, you’re making a living that gets erased every night and begins anew every morning. And sometimes, this pertains to a living that is entirely spiritual.

Don’t get me wrong, I am no follower of the new anti-work faction, and please understand, I define production in an ideal (rather than material) sense. Think about it, have you ever seen the kind of glow that transfigures the face of a person discussing their “life’s work”? Even the most relaxing tropical vacation won’t give you a tan that good.