How To Not Be Eaten By The Monster of Winter
You would be surprised how little people accomplish when they think they’re going to live forever…
My company has a tendency to replenish our paid time off at the beginning of the new year. At the same time, they also look disdainfully at anyone who utilizes this time without a proper waiting period. They see it the same way a parent might look at a child who spends their entire $15 allowance on Bubble Yum. Irresponsible. Lacking impulse control. And, to a certain extent, I agree.
However, when I came in on Tuesday the 4th, they handed me a pack of waybills with 16 stops and then added 7 or 8 pickups to that. Now, mind you, I don’t drive an Amazon minivan. This is a full size tractor trailer. Just because the management expects me to whip around the Hudson Valley like it’s a magic carpet, doesn’t mean it is.
And to add insult to injury, the city manager and the dispatcher called me, eight hours into my shift to both question me and bitch at me for not giving them ample warning about who the hell knows what and not putting the framin in the Kadiddlehopper (that last bit I just made up.)
The two of them, although they also become overwhelmed, somehow failed to take into account that there are a certain amount of tasks that, once heaped upon a person, will render them unable to call others and warn them of logistical difficulties. It’s the Lucy in the Chocolate Factory phenomenon (Google it for a laugh).
So, it follows that I dragged my overly tired and overwrought body to the phone and called out for Wednesday. That was a great feeling. I hadn’t had any sick days left since the summer and I had every intention of enjoying the day. I would learn a bit in MasterClass, I would read. I would work on my fiction manuscript. I would get a haircut and eat a hot breakfast. I’d really make the day count.
Being 52 means never having to explain to anyone that any day can be your last. At this age, the warranty could expire on my aorta, I could have years of plaque build up on the walls of my carotid artery or I could simply get tired of being worked like a homesteader’s plow mule and fall asleep at the wheel on the way home.
They’re not probabilities, mind you, but they definitely exist as possibilities. I’m not being morbid, either. You would be surprised how little people tend to accomplish when they think they’re going to live forever. Or, conversely, how much one gets accomplished when they’re being deafened by Time’s Winged Chariot at their back.
Ah, but let me leave you with this thought:
I have been working the 6am shift for close to two years now. It’s really cool that overtime starts at 2:30 pm, but now that I am immersed in the writing of my first novel, I began to fantasize about having a winter as fun and life affirming as 2019 when I was given the go ahead by New World Library to write Kickass Recovery. I loved the feeling of getting up at 5:30 am, writing for an hour and then getting ready for work. Unfortunately, I was too used to the early shift to make that serious change.
However, there have been some changes made to the roster at work, a few of the 7 am slots got switched to 8 am slots and someone with a bit more seniority called me to warn me they’d be taking my 6 am and I’d be moved to the 8 am. As of the 15th.
So, there it is. A winter of waking up early and writing my novel. The best part is that I never would have found the initiative to make this change on my own but now that I have no choice, it has a much more exciting feel to it. Almost like I’ve been assigned the task of getting this novel completed by March.
Back then in 2019, I used to joke that I should try to write a book every winter because it gave me the opportunity to approach the season I generally dread with excitement and a sense of purpose. And this is exactly how I feel right now.
Because when we are immersed in the business of producing our own “word movie,” we are not obsessing about dating. We are not ruminating about the weather. We are not bugging out about inflation. We are in that zone of make believe where life is simply a joy to take part in. There are those small hours in the dark morning where we are inventing a world from whole cloth. There are those boring hours at work where our heads wander and we plan what we’re going to try to write the next morning.
It is the difference between squeezing everything we can out of the day or simply allowing the New York winter to steamroll over us and have its way with us. And as kinky as that initially sounds, we smile more when we are the masters of our own universe.
So if you see yourself in any of what I have written, may I suggest you plan something for the dog days of winter? You would truly be surprised about your own attitude toward the season. It doesn’t have to be a time to endure. It can be a very fertile time to thrive.
Winner, winner chicken dinner for you, Billy!! You nailed it from start to finish with your storyline that resonates so closely with myself and I'm guessing so many others. The employer always asking to do more with less, without any pushback and certainly with a smile (which is definitely not easy for any of us who have been working on our self-worth and self-respect.) To playing hooky and taking that mental health day before all sanity gets lost in the gutter of doom. (I did just that on Dec 22 when I started and finished by xmas shopping and joyfully stood in line, which was better than being at work) To recognizing our own mortality and need to treat each day as if it were our last. Life has taught us that tomorrow isn't promised, esp if you've ever lost someone unexpectedly. Grateful your shift will be shifting for you to have that suggested window of writing opportunity, compliments of the universe, and the winter stars aligning just for you. I must create that space for something other than daydreaming about brighter days ahead. Cozy vibes being sent your way.
way to make lemonade!