One more for the road?

I caught a story in the Seattle P-I last week about a waitress at Emerald Downs that really got me to thinking.

Apparently this waitress has been working at Longacres & Emerald Downs since 1968. Now well past the normal retirement age, she never misses a day of work and advises younger co-workers to “hustle” when they complain about poor tippers.

It inspired as well as depressed me.

Here was a woman who at 85, had more life and energy about her than I have exhibited in the entirety of my 28 years on this planet. She had found her passion and ran with it.

It’s truly inspiring.

As depressing as the thought of my life lacking a passion/purpose is. It was encouraging to think, I’ve got a hell of a lot of time to figure it out.

This story really hit home for me given my “second stab a retirement” this summer. I had all the time in the world to dedicate to my life’s passions, both figuring-out what the hell they were and what I would do once I had identified them.

I no longer had work to get in the way of fulfilling all those plans/dreams that just I just “didn’t have time to get to” when I was employed.

And here’s the really depressing part: I Got Bored.

The comparison is pretty funny: here’s this 85 year-old lady schlepping drinks to booze-hounds and problem-gamblers and she’s found her place in the world. And there I was the aspiring writer, free to roam the streets of Seattle or the World in search of fodder for the next great American novel…

And what did I do with this valuable free time?

Instead of soul-searching or reading for inspiration, I headed to the bar with my buddy.

The next great American novel, not so much.

The only world travelling I did was from a bar stool and the only exotic things I saw were the import beers I imbibed as I guzzled away my creativity.

Not to say that I regret any of it. Life is meant to be lived and enjoyed. Some of the best writers in the world were alcoholics as well. (Yes, I just said I am an alcoholic, but I’m saying it more to build my mystique as a great writer, than to state a sad, sad reality.)

Perhaps life needs a pair of beer goggles to be interesting.

But I digress, I am simply saying I am not sure that writing is my life’s passion/purpose. But the fact that I sit here on a regular basis plunking away at a keyboard means I must be on to something.

One thing I discovered in my ample free time this summer is that it’s important to know what you don’t like as well as what you do like. It’s that whole addition by subtraction thing.

I got into writing for the same reason I do many things in my life: Efficiency.

I had failed many of the “weed-out” classes in the majors I really liked in college, when I came across journalism. A buddy of mine recommended I try it out, so I did. I actually did pretty poorly in that class as well, but caught the eye of the department chair who took a liking to me. The more I got into it, the easier it seemed to be.

The next thing I knew I was a columnist and people were referring to me as a writer, in much the same way I referred to my technology-class taking friends as engineers. The only difference between my engineering friends and me, is that they took jobs in their fields and loved their work. I, on the other hand, went into finance and am now working in IT…enough said.

Yet here I am stumbling along trying to figure-out what I am here for. And more importantly, what I want to be remembered for.

I know one thing for certain; Working in a call center ain’t the legacy I am shooting for.

I’ve always said that I never want to work doing something I love. Meaning I never want work to be something that consumes me. But I am now discovering that work is no longer just a means to pay my mortgage and keep the fridge stocked.

Sadly, it is what defines you.

So does that mean my legacy is one of being a phone-answering cube-monkey? So far…Yes.

But looking at this 85-year-old as an example, there is hope for me yet. I just need to keep looking. She didn’t stumble across her dream job until her late-20s/early 30’s.

Which means I better get crackin’.

I hope you do the same, if you haven’t already.

Sleeping-in. And no, this isn't about The Postal Service.

Sleeping-in, it’s a luxury that I had written-off years ago.

As a youngster I couldn’t comprehend how my dad could be up at 5 in the morning everyday. Even on the weekends.

Yet as I entered my mid-20’s there I was, the spitting image of my Dad. Up by 6:30 AM, chores done and ready to hit a coffee shop by 8.

I’ve had a few bouts with unemployment in my short career and even when I didn’t have to be up by any time in particular, I was up early and IMing with my employed friends as they were heading out the door.

Which brings me to my current conundrum. I am now sleeping-in.

Of course, now that I have somewhere to be and face consequences for being late, I, the self-proclaimed King of the Early-risers can’t get out of bed.

I am not sure what it is. Maybe it has something to do with the combination of my weight, body temperature, the density of the foam in my mattress and the down in my blanket but they seem to hit the premium “comfort zone” around 5:45 AM. And it stays in “the zone” for a good hour.

It is pure bliss.

How/Why my otherwise crappy mattress and far too hot blanket seem to harmonize so well at the same time everyday I’ll ever know.

But it is pretty damn weak.

As a part-time insomniac, I relish good sleep. I go to bed every night, but rarely wake-up rested or refreshed, which is why this whole comfort zone thing is really messing with me.

I couldn’t sleep-in to save my life when I wasn’t working, when it didn’t matter. I could snooze all day if I got tired.

But now that I am employed, I need to sleep to be able to do my job or at the very least to avoid looking like that girl from the Addam’s Family.

But “the zone” is bitter sweet. Granted it reminds me that I soon have to leave for a job I moderately enjoy, but it reminds me that I don’t have to leave…just yet.

Some days I’ll trade shaving for an extra 15 minutes in “the zone.” Done deal.

Toss on a sweater instead of getting wrinkles out of a dress shirt? Sure, for an extra 5 minutes in “the zone.”

Skip making lunch today for an extra 10 mins of snoozing? Heck yeah.

All of this bargaining for one enjoyable hour of rest. It’s great.

Just a small reminder that for as much as life may seems to be a rat race I’ll never win, I do have some control.

I guess it’s a glass half-full situation.

Truth be told, you really don’t have to go into work. Shoot, it worked for Peter in ‘Office Space.’ But I don’t see myself dating Jennifer Anniston anytime soon. So I’ll just take some solace in the fact that I do still have some control, no matter how infinitesimal, over my existence.

I am OK with that…If you can’t enjoy the little things in life, the big ones are real let downs.

Cubes, mazes, rats, people?

So work.

Apparently, that is what I do now. At least work of the 9-5 nature.

It’s an interesting phenomena to be back in the land of cubes.

I’ve come to realize that I am quite an individualist, who really enjoys the company of others, on my own terms.

Sitting in a cube next to a couple of mothers who decide to share their amazement at how much pooh and puke can come out of one child, is not company I enjoy.

Yet, sadly for me, such is my lot.

It’s kinda funny what the illusion of walls will do to people.

I can hear every conversation that goes on around me, so I assume the same can be said of my conversations for my cube-mates. Yet few seem to grasp the concept that some things should be said outside of the cube, in the friendly confines on anywhere but your cube.

Another example is folks who like to have very personal (and loud) arguments on their cell phones while at their desk.

Mesmerizing stuff, but hardly what I or about anyone else want to hear.

But thanks to miracle of efficient use of space, I get to share an only-slightly-more-than-imagined wall with the Upchuck Twins.

Have I ever been guilty of being inappropriate in my cube at the behest of my cube-mates…I am sure I have. However, I am at least aware of the fact that I don’t have my own office and should be respectful of those around me.

So should cubes be sterile, work-only bastions of efficiency? Not by a long-shot.

I figure the average person spends 8 hours a day at the office, that’s 1/3 of their day! I’d venture to guess that the average person spends more time at work than they do sleeping, so it’s important that you are comfortable there.

Make your cube your own. (As sad as that sounds.)

But as you do so, keep my Dad in mind. He’s the kinda guy who had naked lady calendars on the wall and half-gallons of whiskey on the shelf at home…But nothing of the sort in his office. After all, it WAS an office.

Work is something we have to do. So I advocate making it as comfortable as possible. But in doing so, just pay attention to what your cube is really saying about you and how your actions affect those around you.

Oh, and one more tidbit: Keep the pooh, puke and other talk to a minimum...

I and your cube-mates will thank you.

Update: One more hint...It's never OK to have fish for lunch. Sure it's healthy, but toss it in the microwave and the rest of the office will hate you for the rest of the day.