Living Without a Net: An Odyssey into Self-Employment (Part XIII): Being at One with Our Inner Slacker

It was late-ish, 10pm or so. I was on the phone with my mother, who doesn't seem to mind that I call at midnight her time, now that she's unemployed. I'd just been to Kevin Werbach's pre-SuperNova party, where I met up with my BlogHer buddies Lisa Stone and Elisa Camahort.

Quick digression: Kudos to Renee Blodgett and Sylvia Paull for pulling this shindig together! I used to go to Cha'am Thai for lunch back when I worked in that area, who woulda thunk it would make such a cool gathering place?  Sit a bunch of blogging folks at long tables, where they have to yell,"Pass the tofu, please!" and you have yourself an inexplicably amusing situation. It was a laid back but decidedly connected crowd: The half-mile walk to the bathroom could have been called Business Card Alley. Incidentally, Michael Tchong, my name's JORY not TRACI Des Jardins. Sometimes I wish I was the SF chef, as it appears it would give me a lot more street cred in San Francisco, but alas, you don't want me cooking your dinner.

"So," my Mom said, "How was your day?"

"Good," I said, "But I'm beat. I've been working all day." Granted, I had just been eating, drinking, and schmoozing, but if I wasn't comotose on the couch watching VH-1, I considered any activity as being on the clock.

"Yeah," she said. "Your sister has news. Chris (her husband) had to go to the hospital today." Apparently my brother-in-law, the perfect man I've described before, who is working full-time at a law firm and attending law school at night (and the parent on-call while my sister is away three days of the week), felt a bit odd the other day. Constricted in the chest area. Imagine that! He worried that he might be having a heart attack, but he didn't do anything drastic; he mentioned his life-threatening sensation to a co-worker, who immediately called an ambulance. Sometimes one needs that little extra push.

For the record, the brother-in-law is fine. The palpitations were likely stress related. My sister also experienced stress-induced trauma a week earlier in the grocery store. "I don't know what was happening," my sister said. "I just suddenly felt sick to my stomach and strangely unable to cope ... Weird!"

As far as I know they are chocking up the whole body-rebellion thing as mere quirks in otherwise well-running lives. Still, you have to wonder what their bodies are trying to tell them.

I've had an interesting relationship with my body. In the past it has been a vehicle, like a beaten up Honda that I drove everywhere because it got me places. I never thought to maintain it, or give it premium gas, and when it rebelled and broke down I was often pissed at it and pushed it harder. During times of full-time employment I tended to drive it to dangerous levels. These days I am much more willing to admit that I live in it; I notice it much more. I had a strange epiphany walking with Lisa Stone to the pre-Supernova dinner.

"You know," I said, "My feet are killing me!" I said it like it was a discovery. It was. I'd worn those shoes to scores of business functions, even danced in the damn things, and never realized that they hurt my feet. Perhaps I'd subconsciously rationalized that my comfort was the price of doing business. For the past four months I've been wearing tennis shoes, or Keanes, whatever I can walk in for sustained periods of time. I hadn't thought much about my choice in footwear since going solo; I suppose, though, that I've been letting in the whispers, the subtle suggestions of my body saying, "please, be nice to me."

I still have a long way to go, but I'm making changes. I've read emails I've sent, or blogs I've posted, while completely exhausted; very often I can't understand them. If I find that my noggin is too tired to focus, I go to bed. If I'm having a helluva time waking up in the morning, I sleep in an extra half hour. This may sound rudimentary to some of you, but I assure you, to many it's not. To so many busyfolk, our bodies are not palaces; they're Hondas.

I've been enjoying Worthwhile magazine, but the "Hour Life" section disturbs me. This feature breaks down the daily schedule of its subject, someone with a crazy-busy lifestyle, showing readers how they balance a demanding career with other aspects of their lives. This month the mag features Julia Beck Bromberg, a woman with more businesses (3) than she has kids (2), and who has to commute between Potomac, MD, and New York City to maintain these businesses.

Of course my first instinct was to strike the woman down with a jealousy-fueled rant about how nobody can be a good mother AND maintain three businesses. But, alas, I restrained myself and started to read the piece, which had been broken down into two sections: her NYC and her Potomac schedules. A brief slice of a NY day:

6:45 wake-up call at the W. Union Square, my home away from home
6:50 make coffee, drink water, take herbals, do sun salutations
7:05 check emails, finish client proposal
7:27 quick shower, into clothes, makeup & hair -- talk to kids on the telephone while getting dressed, talk to nanny re: the day
7:50 on downtown platform waiting for the R -- it comes as I am walking down the stairs -- an auspicious start to the day!
8:01 street vendor coffee and bagel
8:05 only five minutes late for strategy meeting

The schedule continued through to 10:20pm, when Bromberg went to bed. The Potomac schedule was twice as long. I looked at the pictures of this beautiful woman, in her office and with her kids, and determined that a week of her life would push me over the edge. I've certainly tried to have every minute of my day dedicated to something productive, like her, but it never turns out that way. Plus if I knew that I had that much to do--even with a job that I loved!--I'm not sure if the proposition of getting out of bed would be that appetizing. I wonder if she ever notices her feet are hurting?

I thought I would try to break down one of my most productive days. The results are decidedly different.:

6:45 alarm goes off. What the hell was I thinking? Shut if off and roll over.
7:30 b-friend pokes me in the side and reminds me that I've slept an additional 45 minutes. I tell him no reminders are necessary; I've just been thinking with my eyes closed
7:31 look at my ceiling; shit, we have water damage. Notice my cat has been sitting on my chest. I feel it necessary we have a bonding moment for the next 15 minutes, eyes closed.
7:46 I get up and go into the office to check email. Wow, those people on the East Coast have been active. Read forwarded bad joke from my mother, the daily dispatch from The Times. Go to email: There are a few messages requiring a response. I check in with my body to see if I have the energy. Nope, not yet. Mark those items unread.
8:03 Make oatmeal in microwave, read Times until I hear "ding". Bring my bowl to my desk. Forget what I was reading. Update Netflix que. Start reading blogs.
8:10 Check email again. Three more messages that require reflection before comment. Switch back to Times. Switch to Gawker.
8:15 Realize I haven't reached out to my mother in 13 hours. Call her, talk about joke she sent. Browse email while she's talking. Respond to emails requiring thought while she's talking.

Say what you will about my schedule, but I think it's more realistic than Bromberg's. Sharing it feels like I've just shown you my income statement; I feel exposed, a bit weak, like I felt years ago when I read a newspaper piece on how the Power Players in New York spend their days. None woke up after 5am, most had read all the major dailies by 7am, most worked out immediately after waking up; most worked until midnight; all claimed to get no more than 5 hours of sleep a night. I'm praying all of them were liars.

I rationalized that I had a few more years of peonhood before I had to worry about being successful and that I should rack-up as much sleep as possible, shore up those reserves for when I'd suddenly want to be constantly productive. I've tried to live like these people but I can't; I get sick, the Honda can't hack it. And (my biggest secret EVER!) I don't want to.

I had to chuckle when I read that one of the Power Players in that article, Judith Regan, was moving her imprint to Los Angeles in order to instill a more laid back, balanced lifestyle into the Regan Books culture. As an ex-New York-living, self-flagellating, therapy seeking type, I felt somewhat vindicated.

I wonder if she needs a consultant?

Comments

[Joy DJ]

BAD JOKES?? I STILL think this was very funny. -Mom

[Jennifer Warwick]

Thanks for this post. For me, the best part of being self-employed is being able to nap when I want. Sure, I'm actually working more hours than when I was in a conventional job...but those hours are most often in an office in my garden, with the door open to hear birds and the fountain in the corner and a bit of traffic. I have eliminated pointy-toed shoes from my life and am just barely able to remember the instructions for putting on hose without making a run. It's like being 13 again :-) Thanks for the reminder that being a slacker while decidedly NOT slacking is a perk of the job.

[Antonella]

You too? I thought I was the only one slapping the alarm clock until it finally shuts up and falling back to sleep with no shame (OK, just a little bit of shame). And I'm not even self-employed.

I don't understand this Superman/Superwoman's myth that Corporate America is so much in love with. I think it has to do with fear of mortality and not wanting to give in to our physical limitations.

I can work quite hard, but it's just a dry kind of satisfaction. It doesn't make me happy. When I find some happiness at work it's because I have stumbled in some good social/human interaction.

[Jill Fallon]

I never believed the schedules some people publish. They're horrifying. Over the edge is right. there's not a moment to take a breath. Funny thing about being your own boss or at least, working mainly alone, your life becomes more organic - sleeping when you need to, eating when you're hungry, wearing only comfortable clothes. Sure sometimes, I have real meetings when I get dressed up, but when I have an over-scheduled day and for some reason, something get's cancelled, I shout a silent hurrah for it feels like a "snow day" and I can just wander around downtown, just wander and wonder

[Barbara Saunders]

Uprisings of the heart are more common than one might think! I used to work as a personal trainer, serving mostly corporate (and occasionally academic) achievers.

Several people I met initiated their gym memberships after episodes of heart palpitations took them to the E.R., and doctors told them to "reduce stress." One man's heart literally skipped every third beat -- it normalized within a week of his finally quitting the job. A woman I saw had experienced what stumped allopaths and what a naturopath diagnosed as "a gradual breakdown of every major body system, caused by stress."

[di]

Thanks for your continued posts...and insights. I had this same AHA moments this past year - through a fluke I hurt my shoulder gardening last spring and kept going, 3 months later when it still was hurting I thought, hmm maybe I should see a dr., 6 months later I went to the dr who gave me ibuprofen, 11 months later I finally went to an orthopedic dr. who gave me cortisone shot and relieved the pain...but in the interim I realize that this injury would NOT go away by working it harder...and I realized that my body will not just keep going if I don't take care of it - and I'm pushing the big 4-0 this month! So good for you for making this realization sooner than later - and start treating your body like a bentley :)

[di]

Jory, hope you don't mind - I received an email I thought the word would spread further and wider via the blogosphere - feel free to cut and paste this if you don't want to link to my site; important thing is to spread the word.
http://www.advancinginsights.com/mybiz/?q=node/235

thanks~

[genevieve]

That woman from Worthwhile gives me the creeps. Phone the kids? What?? Poor little pixies. And it's impossible to make coffee,etc. and do sun salutations properly in 15 minutes anyway. Definitely fibbing.

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