Cubism

So far as jobs go, not many have it as good as me. Maybe backup quarterbacks in the NFL, and Air Force jet pilots.  But they are about it. 

For some, work satisfaction is a product of the intrinsic value of their profession.  That is to say, for example, that Tom Brady probably enjoys very much being a quarterback.  (And not even a backup, at that) Good gig. 

While enviable, Tom Brady is not my hero. 

The target of my own admiration is less toward Mr. Brady, and more toward those with a much less glamorous profession: my coworkers.  Four of them, precisely.  Two are peers in my branch, another is a partner with whom I work closely.  And, fortunately, the fourth is my boss

They all really enjoy their day-to-day work. In their estimation, their efforts are important.  At least within the scheme of those things our work affects.  And the work they do is, quite frankly, astounding.  

As for the significance of our work: I feel differently.  Slightly. 

They enjoy work.  Take value in it.  I, on the other hand, appreciate work.  

If my trade dictated that I, say, remove animal waste from backyards, I would strive to be the best pooper-scooper out there.  

However, I would never claim scooping poop as a world-changing activity. 

I'd like to think that my current occupation has me a few levels advanced above excrement removal.  But the analogy works in my estimation.  

The analogy is important.  I work hard.  Because of the pride I take in myself.  Not necessarily because of the pride I take in my work.   

My appreciation, however, is in what work provides. 

I have an amazing boss.  The second-most amazing thing about her is the depth of her business knowledge.  Most amazing, however, is her steadfast dedication to her subordinates. 

She nurtures us professionally while granting astonishing latitude.  In such a way that work seems less of a burden to my happiness than it has ever. 

No one has better instituted a healthy life/work relationship than my boss.  I'm convinced. 

Becoming a backup quarterback may not be in the cards.  Nor are other more realistic professions. But the career I have, given its flexibility,  is a pretty good one.  

Maturity is discovering happiness in one's reality.  Instead of endlessly lusting after some unattainable state of bliss in unreachable dreams.  

I feel mature right now.  And, happy.  

It's no longer about the work I do.  But the life that work provides. 

Year's First Thunderstorm...

...And I post myself next to to a raised window, separated from the elements by a flimsy screen. 

Wind is shifty, but not violent.  Rain layering in waves.  

Thunder is consistent yet non-threatening.  Electricity is in the atmosphere but stuck in the clouds with no lightning grasping for the ground. 

Weather like this is so beautifully powerful; like an overwhelming subtlety. 

Mesmerized by the coniferous line adjacent the apartment in which I sit.  The tall trees sway in the wind, like a giddy dance, happily drunk on the rain washing upon them.

As quick as it arrived, the storm rushes away. 

While here, it provided pleasant distraction. Beautiful spring. 

A Needed Misstep

Today's post is one with a purpose, that being to share a particular observation.  That observation, the moral of this story, if you will, is provided right here, up front, for your convenience: 

Sometimes, a misstep is needed for one to get back on the right track.  

Today, I had to take a personal day from work.  

Upon my alarm interrupting my rest this morning, I was less startled by its sound than I was by how incredibly abused I felt physically.

Stumbling toward a mirror, I noticed immediately my own puffy face and the dark bags formed like shadowy halos around, but mostly under my eyes. 

This affliction was akin to a pretty hearty hangover.  Which perplexed.  Today is Monday.  And I drank absolutely no alcohol on Sunday.  What a disheartening discovery it would be to uncover the beerless hangover.  

That said, many a beer were enjoyed on Saturday.  But, given how tremendous of a day that was, and the thoroughly intriguing people met, no regret is harbored for that day. 

But Sunday?  I vegetated and watched The Masters.  Unfortunately, Sunday's mistake was one I so very rarely make: overeating.  

The volume of my eating yesterday was so disturbing, I submitted myself to a second bout of running; late last night, after The Masters and before bed.  Given my swollen belly at the time, the evening run was more demanding than the morning's, and quite the worst I've experienced in a while. 

Which brings us back to today.  

I certainly never want to feel like I did this morning.  But the mistakes of yesterday may have been needed.  Because I have (for some time, I now realize upon reflection) been slowly diverting from my preferred path of excellent fitness. 

While I will never attain the level of conditioning I had achieved at this time one year ago, as I now far too greatly enjoy certain indulgences not conducive to fitness, I can surely do better for myself than I am presently. 

I have always taken pride in my strict adherence to a disciplined lifestyle.  Lately, though, I have been slipping.  But only today did I become aware of how disappointed (and, physically poor) one can feel due to a slight diversion.  

So, I had a minor misstep.  No real harm done, but with some willpower, there may be benefit from it to gain.  

Now, to slowly work my way back on track.