I've been thinking about day jobs.
In fact, I've been thinking about day jobs quite a bit, because I have to admit I'm rather burned out about mine. It's not that it isn't interesting; it just isn't me. Even with the big huge raise and everything... I just can't summon up enough energy to care all that much about certain projects that are happening. In my mind, I'd do a better job if they told me what to do and left me alone the rest of the time. *g* But of course they don't do that.
I'll get over it. I'm not going to quit my job unless something better comes along, or I find a job that will allow me to work from home, or I sell a book for a really good advance, or... well, you know the drill.
I've been thinking about other things as well. Material things, to be specific, and what seems to be the American desire to have the best and brightest of everything, even if the things you had before were performing quite nicely.
I can't understand that way of thinking, really, but at one point in my life I tried to. At one point in my life, I tried to fit in by spending money, and look where I am now. I'm making more money now than I have my entire life, but I'm not able to enjoy it at all.
Maybe I'd feel differently if the debt wasn't there. If the stress accompanying the debt wasn't there. I'm not sure. Either way, something has to give, and that's one of the reasons why I'm reading this book.
Every once in a while, but more often than I care to admit, I wonder what it's like to lose everything you own in a fire or flood or some trick of nature. To have to start from scratch, finding the books you love--again; rebuilding your life piece by piece.
I've always wondered what I would buy again if I lost everything I own. Would I haunt the bookstores for copies of my favorite books? Would I endlessly roam ebay to find the things I lost?
In truth, I'd have to admit that I probably wouldn't replace most of the stuff I own. The meaningful things--those things I have that I would truly have problems living without--would be replaced, without a doubt. Yes, favorite books. Yes, favorite clothes. Yes, supplies for dollmaking, and the handful of craft books I still use. Yes, a new computer, to replace the one I lost. Yes, new bulletin boards. Yes, new prints of my photos to hang on the walls.
But the majority of it--and I'm looking at some of it now as I sit here--I doubt I would replace. Books I haven't read in years. Music I haven't listened to since I moved here. Things I bought on a whim, only to discover I didn't really want them after all.
This past spring, I was talking with my mom about moving out. I told her that when I was done with the auctions, I wanted to be able to fit my worldly possessions in my truck, minus furniture. That was right before I sold a bunch of books--some of them very hard to find--that I'd searched out, read, and hadn't looked at in years. Books that were once on my List as hard-to-find. Books that I thought I would never want to relinquish.
I was rather surprised when I realized I don't miss them at all. Selling them helped me out of a bind, and I still have no desire to search them out again.
Once found, never lost. I've read those books, sometimes more than once. I liked them, even loved them, but I hold their stories in my heart now. I no longer need to own them.
Sometimes I think we keep hold of things because they are familiar. Surrounded by the familiar, we are comfortable, even complacent with our lives. Some of our things hold memories, both good and bad. Others make us happy when we look at them; still others make us sad.
If I lost everything I owned tomorrow, I think I could easily write a list of things that I would miss dearly, and I've come to realize that list would not be very long. Most of the things on my list are remembering things; others help me define who I am.
But the majority of my possessions are just that--possessions. And they probably wouldn't be replaced.
I think it's very interesting that in a house full of clutter, my list of things dear to my heart would be so small. That as I'm sitting here surrounded by things, I have no desire to replace what is already gone. In fact, my desire is to get rid of more.
Simplifying. Organizing. Decluttering.
Renewing. Refreshing. Reawakening.
I don't want to be ruled by the things I own any longer. I don't want to be ruled by society's insistence that you live outside your means, chase every fad that comes around, and that money buys happiness.
I think I'd rather be free.
In fact, I've been thinking about day jobs quite a bit, because I have to admit I'm rather burned out about mine. It's not that it isn't interesting; it just isn't me. Even with the big huge raise and everything... I just can't summon up enough energy to care all that much about certain projects that are happening. In my mind, I'd do a better job if they told me what to do and left me alone the rest of the time. *g* But of course they don't do that.
I'll get over it. I'm not going to quit my job unless something better comes along, or I find a job that will allow me to work from home, or I sell a book for a really good advance, or... well, you know the drill.
I've been thinking about other things as well. Material things, to be specific, and what seems to be the American desire to have the best and brightest of everything, even if the things you had before were performing quite nicely.
I can't understand that way of thinking, really, but at one point in my life I tried to. At one point in my life, I tried to fit in by spending money, and look where I am now. I'm making more money now than I have my entire life, but I'm not able to enjoy it at all.
Maybe I'd feel differently if the debt wasn't there. If the stress accompanying the debt wasn't there. I'm not sure. Either way, something has to give, and that's one of the reasons why I'm reading this book.
Every once in a while, but more often than I care to admit, I wonder what it's like to lose everything you own in a fire or flood or some trick of nature. To have to start from scratch, finding the books you love--again; rebuilding your life piece by piece.
I've always wondered what I would buy again if I lost everything I own. Would I haunt the bookstores for copies of my favorite books? Would I endlessly roam ebay to find the things I lost?
In truth, I'd have to admit that I probably wouldn't replace most of the stuff I own. The meaningful things--those things I have that I would truly have problems living without--would be replaced, without a doubt. Yes, favorite books. Yes, favorite clothes. Yes, supplies for dollmaking, and the handful of craft books I still use. Yes, a new computer, to replace the one I lost. Yes, new bulletin boards. Yes, new prints of my photos to hang on the walls.
But the majority of it--and I'm looking at some of it now as I sit here--I doubt I would replace. Books I haven't read in years. Music I haven't listened to since I moved here. Things I bought on a whim, only to discover I didn't really want them after all.
This past spring, I was talking with my mom about moving out. I told her that when I was done with the auctions, I wanted to be able to fit my worldly possessions in my truck, minus furniture. That was right before I sold a bunch of books--some of them very hard to find--that I'd searched out, read, and hadn't looked at in years. Books that were once on my List as hard-to-find. Books that I thought I would never want to relinquish.
I was rather surprised when I realized I don't miss them at all. Selling them helped me out of a bind, and I still have no desire to search them out again.
Once found, never lost. I've read those books, sometimes more than once. I liked them, even loved them, but I hold their stories in my heart now. I no longer need to own them.
Sometimes I think we keep hold of things because they are familiar. Surrounded by the familiar, we are comfortable, even complacent with our lives. Some of our things hold memories, both good and bad. Others make us happy when we look at them; still others make us sad.
If I lost everything I owned tomorrow, I think I could easily write a list of things that I would miss dearly, and I've come to realize that list would not be very long. Most of the things on my list are remembering things; others help me define who I am.
But the majority of my possessions are just that--possessions. And they probably wouldn't be replaced.
I think it's very interesting that in a house full of clutter, my list of things dear to my heart would be so small. That as I'm sitting here surrounded by things, I have no desire to replace what is already gone. In fact, my desire is to get rid of more.
Simplifying. Organizing. Decluttering.
Renewing. Refreshing. Reawakening.
I don't want to be ruled by the things I own any longer. I don't want to be ruled by society's insistence that you live outside your means, chase every fad that comes around, and that money buys happiness.
I think I'd rather be free.
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