Self-Employment – Page 16

December 3, 2013General Life Whatnot Self-Employment

Tiny celebrations for tiny victories. Super tiny.

About 20 minutes ago, for the first time since about Saturday afternoon, I felt caught up. Not finished for the day. Not ahead. Just not drowning. I celebrated by brushing my teeth. I’ve got big plans to take the party grocery shopping in a few minutes (seriously, I’m sort of passionate about grocery shopping. Super pumped about it). After that I’ll buckle down and doggie paddle through the rest of the day.

I don’t mention this to enter the I’m-busier-than-you fray, because I abhor the glorification of busyness. I feel lucky to be having a busy month, but I have slow months too, and moderately-paced months. I mention it because I believe in the power of celebrating tiny victories. In fact, I think it’s a necessity. Too often we’re so focused on long term goals – buying the house, paying off the student loans, getting the big break, winning at life – that we wait too long between celebrations. And it’s exhausting to be always toiling and never celebrating. Celebrating is fun. If we’re not finding reasons to celebrate, even tiny ones, then what are we doing with our lives, people?

November 25, 2013Self-Employment Writing

At least there’s this.

I have one more story to write. It’s 10:47pm. So…probably not going to finish it. I haven’t unpacked since I got home from being gone yesterday. House needs vacuuming. Never made it to the gym today. Lois got a very sad, short walk. I got a lot done in the last 14 hours, but not everything I wanted. Sorry, world.

But “write blog post” is on my to do list. And I’m doing it. Done.

Sometimes you just need to check off one more thing.

And post a Lois picture. She’s ready to pack it in too.

November 22, 2013Millennials Self-Employment Writing

The Work/Life Balance Blur

I’m sitting in my mother’s living room, trying to get some work done. It’s hard here. Not just at my mom’s house, but in my small hometown in general. I was born in Tawas City and grew up here. I feel like a kid here, always. I drink my mom’s Diet Cokes without fretting about the aspartame. I roll through stop signs. I nab dog toys from my dad’s vet clinic, and nobody seems to care. Nothing counts here, but in a good way. It’s like the magical protective dome of my childhood is still in tact and waiting to receive me each time I return.