it is easy and interesting
I’d like to write something fun, but let’s talk about work. Of course, ideally, work should be fun.
Wait. Even more ideal: intensely pleasurable.
What about work?
Know that it is good to work. Work with love and think of liking it when you do it. It is easy and interesting. It is a privilege. There is nothing hard about it but your anxious vanity and fear of failure.
You have the right to work, but for the work’s sake only. You have no right to the fruits of work. Desire for the fruits of work must never be your motive in working. Never give way to laziness, either.
It is good to work. I want to work. I’ve been working. Writing posts every day. It probably seems like work to you, reading them.
I’m feeling the freedom with my first drafts to write whatever glob I can sneeze out of my brain, but then there is some worry, that I’m avoiding “real” work somehow. I procrastinate on starting or re-visiting the “harder” first drafts. I know that I can — and perhaps must — throw a lot of words away, but then the fear of scarcity arises, along with the desire to cling.
“There is nothing hard about it but your anxious vanity and fear of failure.”
I recently wrote something about my dad. I like it. I’m still working on it, but it feels like something more substantive than this one. Still I may keep sending posts “like this one” out the door while I work on others. I’ll attempt brevity and low expectations. They’re a practice in habits. Of writing. Of publishing. Of sharing with you naturally.
How sublime if I can learn to let the words go after publishing. Let them flow down the river and out to sea, equally content with them seen or unseen as they pass over the rocks and the weeds, knowing that with time, the words might cut a deeper channel.