What makes a man?  On various levels I think I’ve been asking myself that question all of my life.  And yet, I still wonder.  Today marks the beginning of week three of unemployment.  It’s a status that I chose for myself with visions of autonomy, time, creativity, and numerous personal projects to be tackled - finally.  But, as it turns out, it’s more complicated than that.  The list is long, and sure I’ve managed to check many things off, but at odd times I feel like I’ve lost a certain part of what defines me.

Shaking work is kind of like changing skin color for me.  It seems part and parcel of who I am perhaps a result of my mother’s work ethic drilled into me from an early age.  At eight I had windex in hand and scrubbed for pay.  And yet now I am in the very fortunate situation that I don’t really need to work for a while.  I know it’s a gift that I’ve afforded myself after years of saving and yet somehow it’s a gift that I resist claiming or opening, at least not without a bit of guilt or perhaps shame.  After all, I’m middle-aged, aren’t I supposed to be at my productivity prime?

Odd isn’t it that I need to get used to relaxing?  My good friend, Hilary, tells me that I need to get my ass on the couch and do nothing. Wow, that’s a taller order than telling me to figure out how to re-wire the house. And yet my creative self is dying to get out, explore, and dance around at this new found freedom.  He’s never going back in that box.  That much is clear.

So perhaps as I plow through my chore list, I’ll figure out somehow what excites me, what feeds my soul, what makes my heart dance.  It’s kind of like washing dishes when trying to figure out a huge problem.  Somehow between the washing and rinsing, a thought will come to me.  A new way of approaching a familiar issue.  Here’s to hoping that the brainstorm of my future is just a paint stroke away.  If nothing else, the garage door will look better, right?