A writer finds himself, you know, between chapters sometimes.
When that happens, he finds the usual roundup of possibilities: Contract jobs that never seem to fill, positions for nameless companies that might want to talk to you. Maybe. If only you could talk with someone who can find you a job you’d love …
Meet Liz Khodak.
Visiting her office uptown during a job search years ago was different. We sat at a table and talked. She listened. She took notes. (I tried to read them, but I’m lousy at reading upside down.) It was a very different experience.
Not the Dollar General one. The one that goes to my work computer. It’s an Apple MacBook Pro charger. It costs about the same as the Pittsburgh Pirates payroll. I left it plugged in in the media tent during All-Star weekend. (I was hungry and distracted.)
I bought a replacement at a lower cost – about the same as the payroll of the Kansas City Royals, for comparison.
It’s not as fast and fancy. But it works. Thing is, I need to keep plugged in almost always, so I don’t get distracted and hungry and wind up with 7% battery and 37 stories to write. I can also plug my iPhone into this little charger that could.
I wanted to call one, once. We’d taken a 1-0 lead against the state championship runners up from last season. They’d beaten up on us for years. But today, as we broke for halftime, we were up 1-0.
“Guys,” I said, “look casual, but let’s see if we can get to the parking lot without anyone noticing us …”
The girls laughed. We thought if we could sneak away now … well, they couldn’t score on us, could they? We lost 3-1. But that moment proved we’d reached a level we’d strived for. For years, really. We were good enough to get ahead of a bitter rival.
The toughest person to forgive is often ourselves.
I’ve two Go Ask Daddy posts unpublished. Crazy, huh? If I can’t finish on my self-imposed deadline, I won’t publish. I’ll save them. I’m holding my blog hostage. I force myself to finish freelance work (veggies) before I get to blogging (snickerdoodle cookies.)
Heard of the Pomodoro timer?
I’m using that too. I’m rewarding myself for hours of distraction-free work with writing for fun. It keeps me hungry (not for snickerdoodles, although …) to put in the work to get to what feeds my soul most.
I did it. I found my way back. Like, in a real way. I keep hearing and reading about doing what we love and loving what we do and you know what? Me, not writing, was kind of like me not thinking about tacos. Only, kinda worse, you know?
Anyway, I’ve found a way to schedule writing and reading and commenting.
I promise it’ll be better than the new Full House or even slicker than those Detroit Lions throwback jerseys, which actually look like a kid just peeled all the Lions stickers off. I’m grateful for a chance to breathe some new life around her.
It’s not like the girls’ questions have ever stopped. No, dad just doesn’t answer them on the internet like he used to. He’s all … responsible. Writing stuff for his job, journaling, sitting perfectly still in his recliner, silent.
It’s different from when he does this after eating pizza.
At that point, he’s reclined and grinning like a baby with gas. No, he’s actually meditating. That’s fine and all, but Go Ask Daddy posts don’t just write themselves.
Definitely the parental sideline at any youth athletics event.
These are all places humans have gravitated toward boorish and ill-advised behavior. Today’s guest post is from my oldest, Madison, who, like her sisters, says she blocks out the noise from the familial upline, but what she wrote today demonstrates otherwise.
And by a minute, I mean a month. Holy hell – how did April get outta here so fast? Everyone’s wrapped up their #AtoZChallenge, and I’m still stretching my hamstrings. Yes, I’m on the letter F. And there’s plenty to post about.
I have a guest post from Madison, even, that she sent me as a PDF and why do post-millennials do things so differently than we do?
I also have a guest post from Lauren Mayhew that you’re going to love. And the rest of my posts about looking for my next job. I got plenty of words: What I don’t have is plenty of space in the day to write such things.