At the rate I'm going, I'll have to to rename this journal "Almost Weekly". . .
It's this ridiculous Protestant work ethic. Whatever I'm doing has no value unless it's gainful employment. One would think that by now I would have figured out how to turn that voice off, or at least convince it that taking small steps now toward my dreams will help me achieve gainful employment later. But, sadly, I haven't figured out either, evidently. All day, every day, somebody else's projects, somebody else's words.
I'm not complaining, much. It's more that I'm frustrated with myself. I know, and I was reminded today with one of the writers' newsletters that appear in my in-box, that I need to be writing every day. Not when there's time. Not when I feel like it. Not when the workload gives me a few spare moments. Every day.
It's just a matter of doing it. Like the yoga I do first thing every morning, except this morning since I'm not supposed to do an inversion before the end of the week.
A while ago I read Rich Dad, Poor Dad, mostly to see what all the fuss was about. The author has been rather successful with real-estate, and he seems to feel that will be more stable and earn him more money than traditional stock market games. Whatever. The most important lesson I took from the book: pay yourself first. He meant literally. Give yourself the chunk of your business income that you want for yourself; sure, when the taxman comes, there will be a deficiency, but the awareness of the deficiency should inspire you to go out and make the additional money you need to keep yourself out of prison. Not exactly the way I want to live my financial life, thank you. But a useful metaphor. If I permit myself to use the time I want to spend on my projects first, before the projects for other people, I will somehow find the time to accomplish both. Walnuts and rice, again.
It's this ridiculous Protestant work ethic. Whatever I'm doing has no value unless it's gainful employment. One would think that by now I would have figured out how to turn that voice off, or at least convince it that taking small steps now toward my dreams will help me achieve gainful employment later. But, sadly, I haven't figured out either, evidently. All day, every day, somebody else's projects, somebody else's words.
I'm not complaining, much. It's more that I'm frustrated with myself. I know, and I was reminded today with one of the writers' newsletters that appear in my in-box, that I need to be writing every day. Not when there's time. Not when I feel like it. Not when the workload gives me a few spare moments. Every day.
It's just a matter of doing it. Like the yoga I do first thing every morning, except this morning since I'm not supposed to do an inversion before the end of the week.
A while ago I read Rich Dad, Poor Dad, mostly to see what all the fuss was about. The author has been rather successful with real-estate, and he seems to feel that will be more stable and earn him more money than traditional stock market games. Whatever. The most important lesson I took from the book: pay yourself first. He meant literally. Give yourself the chunk of your business income that you want for yourself; sure, when the taxman comes, there will be a deficiency, but the awareness of the deficiency should inspire you to go out and make the additional money you need to keep yourself out of prison. Not exactly the way I want to live my financial life, thank you. But a useful metaphor. If I permit myself to use the time I want to spend on my projects first, before the projects for other people, I will somehow find the time to accomplish both. Walnuts and rice, again.
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